Meet Me Halfway
by Recall the Love
Summary: Like any typical romantic story, it begins with a collision. Repost - prequel to Better Where it's Wetter
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hey, remember me? Yeah, me neither. Anyway, someone (KW Jordan) asked for the prequel for Better Where It's Wetter to be put back up. As it happens, I like this story much more than BWIW, so I'm happy to. XD**

**However, I'm having some problems with formatting, so I'll be posting this a chapter at a time – although there won't be too much of a gap between postings. I'm also going through and fixing some things; keep in mind I wrote this nearly two years ago so Glee canon has changed, and so has my writing.**

**(Also, this story is not linear, in case it's not obvious).**

* * *

**September 2008 **

Like any typical romantic story, it begins with a collision.

McKinley High. Second day of the new school year. Quinn Fabray walking one way, Rachel Berry the other. One girl the epitome of nervousness, anxiously glancing down at the sheet music clutched in her hands and half singing to herself. The other is much more composed at first glance. However, this is only true on the outside; anyone that knows her well can see the tense line of her shoulders, the worrying of her bottom lip between perfectly even teeth that indicates an issue is niggling at her.

Thankfully not many know Quinn nearly as well as they think they do - no one around knows what's going through her head as she stares at the glee club advert clutched in her hands.

Paces away from each other now, both are lost in their own thoughts. There's a pause as Quinn suddenly comes to a halt, as though hesitating about doing something. Everything freezes and holds its breath, waiting for Quinn's decision.

A few tense moments pass before she lifts her head up and starts to move forward with renewed confidence.

A few feet to the left, or waiting just a second longer would've saved Quinn a heck of a lot of misery and happiness.

Quinn's sudden extra speed is what sends them straight into each other.

Some (particularly Rachel) would call this "fate."

Quinn, ever the sarcastic one, would prefer to label it "falling on our asses", as that is exactly what they did.

The impact had sent them flying in opposite directions onto the cold concrete, scattering papers all around them. For now, whatever forces that caused them to collide and fall on this rather cloudy morning of September - be it serendipity, destiny, or physics - slinks away and leaves them to get on with it.

Quinn is the one who recovers first. She pushes herself upright, massaging the painful spot on her back which will surely have a bruise later. An acidic curse directed at the clumsy person who ran into her is already forming on her lips - her mother would probably faint to hear the words she's thinking come from the mouth of her "perfect" daughter. Still, there's a lot of things her mother doesn't know about her.

Although the words are on the tip of her tongue, they simply evaporate when she sees Rachel for the first time: in all the glory of her lamb sweater and painfully short skirt. Years later, she'll tell Rachel that she was captivated by her beauty. In reality, however, that comes about five minutes later. The Quinn of this time is far shallower, and to the shame of her future self she's only thinking about Rachel's clothes - because one look at the still horizontal girl tells her everything she needs to know. She has "victim" written all over her – Quinn knows the type of person that ends up getting picked on at school and this one seems to be declaring proudly it for the entire student body to see with her cutesy farm animal design.

Hanging around with girls like her is like being near someone with the flu; it's as if the loser quality is contagious and attaches to anyone nearby, forever tainting their school reputation. She knows what comes after that from her sister: swirlies, being shoved in the hallway, locker filled with flour... Any manipulative scheme the others can get their grubby little hands on.

If today were a normal day, then Quinn would have already been on the other side of the school faster than you could say "repression". After all, she has obligations to take care of and she knows nothing about the tiny thing lying on the floor beyond her hideous wardrobe and the metaphorical target sign on it – not the most endearing traits. But then, just as she's about to leave, the unknown brunette sits up and blinks at her in confusion.

And for the second time in as many minutes, the usual barbs just die in Quinn's mouth.

This is when the captivation sets in.

'I'm so sorry,' says the other girl earnestly, scrambling to her knees and beginning to gather and order her things into piles (Quinn sees that they're all colour coordinated). 'I'm afraid I wasn't looking where I was going. Normally I'm far more poised, but I was a little – well, shall we say, wound up – because I just left from an audition for the glee club and Mr. Ryerson seems to think it prudent to wait until the end of the week to announce who will be allowed to join. I tried to explain to him that numbers are too small to be picky about who we let in but he seems to have completely disregarded everything I said to him. That includes my threa – my _suggestions_ that he listen to me, otherwise I would be obliged to contact my gay dads and insist they call upon their contacts in the ACLU. Here,' she adds, shoving the poster back into Quinn's hands before continuing her speech.

Quinn takes it absently, brain still working over time to process the overload of information. Once it catches up she realises she has learnt several things about the brunette. One, she talks too much. Two, she talks too much, _with _a vocabulary completely unfitting for a teenager in Ohio. Three, she was auditioning for the glee club. Four, she has gay dads who apparently have contacts in high places. Five, her eyes are pretty. And six... well, she doesn't know what six was, because she's still stuck on five so it takes her a while to notice Rachel is looking at her pointedly.

'Sorry, what did you say?' she says, shaking herself back into conscious thought.

'I said I was Rachel Berry and then I asked your name.'

'Oh. Um.' What _is_ her name? She can't remember, no matter how much she racks it and for a moment Quinn completely panics. So much so the wrong name falls out from between her lips. 'Charlie.' As soon as she's said it her hand claps over her mouth. What the hell, Quinn?

Rachel raises an eyebrow at her actions. 'Charlie. Hm. Well, I must say, you don't look like a Charlie.'

Quinn flushes bright red, unable to believe she said the wrong name in the first place. 'That's because it's not my name. I don't even know why I said that, I was just...' She forces herself to stop, and takes a deep breath. Start again. 'My name's Quinn… Quinn Fabray.' She makes a face. 'AKA, as of now, the biggest idiot in McKinley.'

Rachel laughs. Is it possible to fall in love with someone's laugh? If so, then Quinn thinks she might have found a soul-mate in the loud, bold noise that escapes Rachel.

Rachel sticks out her hand and Quinn takes it hesitantly.

'Nice to meet you. I'm glad you remembered your name in the end; it suits you more than Charlie. In my humble opinion, Quinn is prettier.' The compliment, laced with the tiniest hint of a teasing tone makes her blush even harder. What's happening to her? Quinn never loses her composure like this.

'My parents wanted a boy,' she explains weakly.

'Well then, if you were a boy, I'd tell you that it's very handsome...'

More heat in her cheeks, if that's even possible. She must look like a tomato by now. It's the intense, but affectionate way Rachel is looking at her, making Quinn's heart pound in a deeply unsettling way. Thankfully she starts to talk again – Rachel's good at that - and saves Quinn from having to speak any more since she isn't sure she'd manage to speak coherently without spilling her deepest secrets or something.

'Now, Quinn -' the single syllable sounds amazing in her voice, makes it sound like it _could_ be pretty – 'I couldn't help but notice you were holding a glee club poster. Were you hoping to audition for the club as well?'

'I was considering it?'

Rachel's eyes widen happily. They are a seriously deep brown and yet when she smiles they light up with enough to power Quinn's house. She briefly imagines Rachel on a little wheel, providing electricity for her laptop, and starts to really wonder about her lack of focus today.

'You must! The club is rather short on members, and I could really use a friendly face with me.'

She's tempted – God, is she. She had already been considering it but now Quinn knows Rachel is in it too... Right now, there's nothing else she wants more than spending more time with this girl. She can't even think straight enough to be worried about that fact.

Quinn opens her mouth.

'Ok -'

But she never gets a chance to finish her response, because she hears someone calling her name.

Quinn recognises the voice immediately and glancing over her shoulder reveals her suspicions to be correct: Santana, with Brittany too. Her heart plummets as it all comes flooding back: she was about to try out for the Cheerios but got distracted by that glee club poster, tacked on the notice board like an afterthought. Something came over her and soon enough she was ripping the thing off and running away with it like a mad woman. And then it led her to Rachel – literally.

The resulting disappointment she feels - knowing she's going to be made to leave now - is also highly concerning. She resists the urge to feel her forehead to check if she's running a fever.

'Quinn! C'mon, we'll be late otherwise,' Santana yells, right on cue.

Even from Quinn's position a short distance away she sees the smirk forming on her lips as her eyes pass over Rachel. Her head inclines slightly to Brittany, whispering something: they giggle together. There are no prizes for guessing who the joke is aimed at.

'Are you auditioning for the glee club as well?' asks Rachel them hopefully. She either hasn't noticed the sneering going on or she's doing well at ignoring it.

At this Santana laughs. 'The glee club? Are you kidding?'

Her eyes slide past Rachel to Quinn, still crouched on the ground - halfway between staying near Rachel and following Santana and Brittany, her oldest friends.

'We're cheerleaders. Always have been.'

Quinn doesn't miss the derision in Santana's voice when she says "glee club". It's an unwelcome reminder of how the club is treated at this school, historically, from what her sister has told her. Quinn glances at the lamb on Rachel's front and knows it's true.

However, for a moment she still hovers awkwardly at Rachel's side, unsure.

Part of her is still so weirdly charmed by Rachel and almost wants to go ahead with the audition to see what happens. The rest of her sees Santana raising her eyebrow at her expectantly, waiting for her to get going, wondering why she's not following.

She and Brittany are already changed into the clothes they're going to try out in; Quinn is not. If she doesn't hurry now then she's going to miss her allotted time – and Sylvester kicks out any late-comers on the spot. It should be an easy decision.

Her gaze flicks back to the brunette, who is looking at the poster in Quinn's clutches. They rise in confusion to Quinn's face, the brow above furrowing. A silent question. _Are you coming?_

'Quinn!' Santana yells. She's much louder than Rachel, if possible, and much more impatient.

Suddenly, Quinn seems to come back to herself. What is she _doing_? She shouldn't have even _thought _about auditioning for the glee club. Becoming a cheerleader was all they'd talked about growing up, all they'd set about doing during middle school. Something her older sister had prepped her on, advised her on through late night phone calls from college. She can't give it up now for a simple impulse to try something new that had hit her upon seeing the poster. Or because of large brown eyes that make her feel both exposed and comfortable at the same time...

_Stop it._

Unable to face Rachel's gaze, Quinn ducks her head. Her hand crumples the poster, chucking it over her shoulder and letting the wind carry it away.

'See you around,' Quinn blurts out before scrambling to her feet and scuttling to her place in between Santana and Brittany. They steer her around towards the school, leaving Rachel alone. 'Who was that?' asks Brittany curiously as they walk away, arm in arm with each other. Quinn barely resists the urge to glance back. 'No one...'

**June 2010 **

All around Rachel in the choir room people are hugging goodbye with promises to call or text over the weekend, to meet up for some party that night, all those social things that come so easily to others but not to Rachel.

She stands on her own in the corner, slowly packing her music away into the giant, alphabetised accordion file she always carries around with her. No one's really said anything to her. That's to be expected, though, since people rarely hang around to say goodbye on a Friday afternoon. As of late Finn has occasionally hovered nearby, waiting to give her a lift or simply a hug and kiss on the cheek before he leaves, but today he's already gone. Apparently Finn and Puck are repairing their bromance with beer and video games, and tonight is Mario Kart night, leaving Rachel alone.

Gradually the noise of the other students dissipates and she's left alone to pack her trolley case. Even Brad left five minutes ago - the piano player who is able to magically be wherever they need him has more social life than she does. Somehow, even as the rising star of McKinley with a practically-certain future career on Broadway, people are not lining up to spend time with her.

Rachel comforts herself with the fact that one day, they will all be clamouring for her autograph. Still, there's a long way to go before that.

Looking on the bright side, it's Friday; game night at the Berry household. Maybe this time she can win against her daddy at Scrabble. He's had a three week winning streak, and something needs to happen to stop her fathers glaring at each other across the dinner table and trying to sabotage the Scrabble set.

Rachel turns around, intending to leave the choir room – however, she ends up running straight into Quinn who is standing behind her. They both let out an involuntary cry and stumble backwards; the other girl looks just as startled as Rachel is.

'I have mace in my bag!' Rachel cries instinctively, jumping back behind the chairs for protection. She doesn't genuinely think she'll need it, of course, but old habits with Quinn die hard.

'Relax, Berry,' says Quinn, holding up her hands and rolling her eyes. 'I'm not here to hurt you.'

Beneath her hand on her chest, Rachel's heartbeat gradually slows to its natural pace, although still cautiously raised in preparation for danger.

'Oh. Then what _are_ you here for?'

Quinn shrugs at her.

'I was about to say goodbye to you? Y'know, since no one else did.'

Somehow, she makes that sound completely patronising.

'_Oh_.' She draws out the syllable to show her disapproval. She doesn't want to talk to Quinn out of pity. She comes out from behind the chair and reaches for her bag. 'Goodbye, then. If you'll excuse me…'

Since Quinn's baby was born, Rachel actively avoids spending time with her. She even misses out her solo performances. Although Quinn appears to have turned over a new leaf and thus has a far warmer attitude towards Rachel, she's always wary of somehow inciting the girl's wrath again. It never used to take much - maybe she was standing the wrong way or looking at Quinn strangely. Whatever it was, the end result was often the same: Slushie facial (usually administered by someone else, but she knows the true source). At least they're not fighting over boys anymore.

Today is the first time Quinn has actually sought her out to talk to her in months, and she doesn't want to hear it.

'Hey, don't walk away,' Quinn says as Rachel begins to drag her trolley case away. There's a hint of annoyance in her voice. 'I wanted to speak to you.'

'Oh really? I thought you were merely saying goodbye.'

Quinn pinches the bridge of her nose in exasperation. 'Don't act stupid, Berry - you know as well as I do that that's not the only thing I'm talking to you for.'

'I wasn't aware you would condescend to talk to me for _any _reason, except to hurl abuse,' Rachel says mildly.

Quinn scowls, displeased with the sarcastic treatment. 'You know what?' she grouses, throwing her hands up. 'Forget it. I was actually going to give you something musical related, but I guess I'll just go give it to Kurt instead.'

Quinn turns to leave, but Rachel leaps forward and whirls her back around before she can stop herself. 'Wait! Musical related?'

She tugs her arm out of Rachel's grip and glances down at her nails mock-innocently. 'Well,' she drawls, 'I might have an autographed Spring Awakening poster in my car. Signed by the entire original Broadway cast... I found it the other day and thought you might like it. But,' she adds, 'if you're going to be rude to me...'

Inside her brain, the mini-Rachels in charge of her thought processes and actions have a silent three-way tussle for the controls. Rachel the Broadway Lover vs. Rachel the Sceptic vs. the biggest and often, most aggressive one – Rachel the Quinn Lover, who also sometimes moonlights as the Quinn Hater.

After a brief fight the Quinn Lover ends up pinning her sceptic side down while the Broadway fan inside her takes controls.

'No!' she exclaims. 'Quinn, the entire cast?!'

Quinn smirks slightly. 'Yes. My sister went when I was younger and I found out. She bribed me with it to make sure I didn't tell my dad. It's been under my bed for years.'

'Lea Michele? Jon Groff?' she says suspiciously.

Quinn nods, quirking an eyebrow. 'Of course.'

'People tell me I look like Lea.'

Now the mouth turns up as well, resulting in an adorably lopsided smile. It's as if Quinn is trying to smirk again, but can only smile instead. 'Yeah, she does. She's pretty, but I think her nose is bigger.'

Rachel is surprised to recognise that she's just received a rather subtle compliment from Quinn. Instead of making her melt and throw herself at the other person like compliments usually do, however, it simply makes her even more suspicious. 'How do I know you're genuine? What's the catch?'

She holds up her hands. 'None. Only –'

'Aha,' says Rachel, sighing.

'_If you'll let me finish_, I just want to tell you something. Let me say my piece, and it's yours.'

Rachel frowns at her.

'You'll just have to trust me.'

The one thing she has trouble doing. Rachel peers at Quinn. Although she valiantly searches her hazel eyes carefully for any sign of malice, she finds none. Although sense tells her not to believe the other girl at all, she reasons that even if she doesn't like what's being said she gets a signed poster out of it.

She says reluctantly, 'You win. You have fifteen minutes..'

Quinn blinks. 'That was easier than I thought it'd be.'

'Well, I'm intrigued to find out what _lovely_ speech Quinn Fabray has prepared for me.' Rachel returns to her seat; once there she crosses her legs and folds her arms in a pose which she hopes adequately displays her disinterest in what Quinn has to say. Rachel inclines her head at the blonde. 'Speak!'

Quinn regards her with an odd half-grin, half scowling expression. With one hand she's twisting the hem of her dress; the other is resting on her belly where her baby once was. She notices Quinn's shoulders are hunched and tense. Rachel's known her long enough to recognise the signs of when the girl is nervous. Why, though? What could make Quinn anxious? Perhaps she had some particularly mean prank to play on Rachel, and she's not sure about going through with it.

A few minutes pass where Quinn just remains silent, her mouth working around words but nothing coming out.

'Your quarter of an hour is ticking away,' Rachel reminds her eventually.

Inexplicably, Quinn lets out a quiet laugh - still looking at Rachel in that strange way. Her leg twitches, like she's deciding whether to move or not. Sure enough, after a moment of hesitation, she crosses the room in a few strides. A chair is spun around to face Rachel and Quinn sits with her legs folded beneath her, resting her head and arms across the back. 'You know, I spent all day thinking about what I was going to say. Now I don't know where to start.'

'All day? So this was premeditated?'

'Of course.' Quinn glances up at her through her eyelashes before dropping her eyes back down shyly, poking at the chair. Very different from the confident, bribing game she was playing a few minutes ago. 'Why do you think I brought the poster?'

'You really intended to use it to coax me into talking to you?'

Quinn arches an eyebrow. She glances around the room. 'You're not recording this to show to a cop or something are you? Because that seems like something you'd do, Berry.'

'Sadly I left all my recording equipment at home since I wasn't informed you'd be speaking to me today. After all, you haven't spoken to me properly for a long time, and before that it was only to insult me,' Rachel says, an edge to her voice.

To her surprise, Quinn doesn't get annoyed or start saying sharp words back. Instead, she sighs deeply. 'Yeah, you're probably right.'

'Excuse me?' 'I said you were right. Don't get used to me saying that,' she adds, lips twitching. 'But… Yeah. Um. I've treated you... horribly.'

Rachel nods. 'Yes. You have.'

Quinn rolls her eyes at the short response. 'You can't make anything easy, can you?'

'I think because I know where this conversation is going, I want to make it as uncomfortable for you as possible.'

'You're weird,' says Quinn.

'Insulting me is not endearing me to you at all, and I might not be inclined to listen to anything you say next...'

'It wasn't an insult.' At Rachel's scoff, Quinn grits her teeth, dropping one leg back to the floor in order to push off and tilt her chair forward. 'Okay, _fine_. I'll say it.'

'Nice and loud, please, if you will,' Rachel sings.

'Ugh,' grumbles Quinn. She rocks her chair a second time, glaring at the floor. 'Right. Well. Berry... I'm sorry, I guess.'

'You _guess_?'

Quinn glares at her. Rachel decides not to push it. After all, it's a momentous occasion. Quinn Fabray rarely apologises, particularly for huge mistakes. Rachel considers this for a few moments and then bobs her head once in acceptance. 'I see,' Rachel comments. 'Do I get my poster now?'

The blonde's head shoots up in incredulity. 'That's all I get? All that angst and worry about saying the words and you say "I see"? Do I need to write you a list of things I did - Slushies? Drawings on the bathroom wall? Name calling? Think of it, I probably did it to you.'

'Quinn, I'm well aware of everything you did to me.'

'So why aren't you reacting more?'

Rachel raises an eyebrow at her. 'It's very simple. I've offered you friendship many times since we first met. Time and time again, you've declined; not only that, you've practically thrown it back in my face in the form of a Slushie. And yet you appear to believe that just saying "I'm sorry" is somehow going to mend it all.'

Of course, Rachel neglects to mention to Quinn that she forgave her a long, long time ago and that the sorry was never needed. That doesn't mean it's not wanted, however, as she can't deny how good it feels to hear it. Still, Rachel intends to drag out this little guilt thing Quinn has going on as long as she can. Twisted? Maybe. But a girl has to get her amusement somehow.

'I don't think that,' Quinn says defensively. 'But it's the first step right? Admitting your mistakes. At least I'm trying.'

Rachel shrugs and crosses her arms over her chest. 'I didn't say I didn't appreciate your attempts. However, as you might imagine, an entire year and more of torture is not easy to get over.'

Quinn's face falls. 'I know,' she mutters. Her expression indicates she knew, but hoped it wasn't so. 'I never expected you to...'

Rachel studies Quinn carefully. Then she says abruptly,

'Stop doing that.'

'Doing what?'

'That face. Yes, that one!' She points as Quinn accidentally does it again, only this time with more confused bottom lip. 'That is far too similar to the Berry Pouty Face, which, I might remind you, is a trademark for _my_ family only.' She plants her hands on her hips and looks at Quinn sternly. Comprehension and slight amusement appears to be dawning on the blonde's face. 'It's lucky I am immune to it.'

Quinn pushes her lip out even more. 'Are you sure about that?' Her words come out muffled because her lip is protruding so much. Rachel tries to hide her smile, she really does. It's not her fault Quinn does look adorable like that, even if that particular pose is meant to for the Berrys only.

However, she really doesn't expect Quinn to notice and let out an extremely uncharacteristic noise that sounds like "squee". She's practically bouncing in her chair now, hazel eyes sparkling and pointing frantically at Rachel.

'I made you smile! Like, properly smile!'

She sounds so pleased about it.

'Why does that make you happy?' asks Rachel curiously. Quinn is actually full-on beaming at her.

'I haven't done that in so long. I honestly thought I'd never make it happen again.' _Again. _It's the first reference Quinn has made in months to their friendship at the beginning of freshman year. She's spent every day denying it ever happened and pushing Rachel away; that was the first time Rachel actually felt like she had a proper friend at this school. She hasn't done since.

'Admittedly I do prefer when you're making me smile rather than… cry.' Sighing, she turns her chair around mirrors Quinn's position of leaning over the top of the chair. Her eyes are fixated on Rachel's face, displaying her feelings so openly in a way she isn't accustomed to seeing anymore. It's uncomfortable but she makes the effort to meet her eyes back.

'I do too,' says Quinn earnestly.

Rachel shakes her head. Hesitating, she slowly reaches out to place her hand over the other girl's. Although the muscles jump underneath her and twitch as though she wants to move away, Quinn doesn't. In fact, she joins their fingers together, swinging them in the space between their chairs.

They stay like that for some time. Quinn's staring at their hands in wonder, a small smile on her lips. Rachel pretends she hasn't missed that smile and the warmth that comes with being the only recipient of it. After a few moments, Quinn says quietly, 'You forgive too easily,' Quinn says quietly. 'I never expected you to listen, let alone...' She trails away.

Rachel squeezes her hand. 'Tell me why this is so important to you. Why now? Why not before? Why did you do it at all?'

Quinn's brow furrows in thought at this question, hair falling into her face to shield her from view. The teeth come out to chew her bottom lip, and when Quinn doesn't respond for a long time, Rachel begins to think she's shut her out again even if her hand is still in Rachel's. But then, she speaks, voice even softer than before.

'Because the past nine months have been hard. Because I've lost my family once already, and even though I have my mom back, things are tense. I lost my friends. And I got Slushied.

She shakes her head. 'Actually, it hasn't just been hard. It's been... awful.' Quinn starts to fidget, falling back into twisting the material of her skirt between her fingers. 'Y'know, for a while there, I had no one. And it got me thinking... Why did this happen to me? What are the mistakes I've made, so I never repeat them?' She takes a shuddering breath, raises her gaze again briefly before dropping it.

'Rachel, you... you were the biggest mistake. Everything - everything I did to you. And the reason I did it? It was all because I was scared about... about your feelings for me.' She pauses, for a moment looking at little panicked. 'You don't still have them, do you?'

Rachel shakes her head fervently.

_I can practically feel my underwear catching fire from the size of that lie... _Rachel thought. She hopes Quinn can't read it from her face.

Quinn sighs in relief. 'Sorry, I think that would take me a little longer to get over. I do regret everything I did though, and I have for a long, long time... it's taken me all this time to get the courage to say anything.' Quinn raises her head, but her eyes appear to be focusing on Rachel's nose rather than looking at her directly. 'I need you to understand that I mean this apology.'

'Do you really?'

Quinn nods vigorously. 'I do.'

'Then say it again, and look me in the eyes when you do.'

Almost immediately, Quinn looks up and tries to say it, but the words seem to die in her throat. She makes many false starts like that – starting to say the words without looking at her, or looking at her but not being able to say anything.

'Why is this so hard? I managed it before,' says Quinn in frustration, after the fifth consecutive attempt. 'I want to say it. It's right there. Two words. It should be easy.'

'I have time, you know,' Rachel says. 'We can do it another day, and I'll be happy to hear it whenever as long as it's honest.'

'No,' says Quinn forcefully. She slides her foot on the floor, scooting her chair until it's nearly pressed against Rachel's. 'We're doing this today.' She sits up and steadily meets Rachel's eyes. There's the old HBIC confidence in there, certainly, but something else too. 'Rachel, I –'

For one heart-stopping moment, her breath catches and Rachel seems to go slightly insane. The rational part of her brain knows perfectly well what Quinn is about to say. But for a moment, she really thought Quinn was about to say 'I love you'.

Obviously, she doesn't. 'Rachel, I'm so, so sorry.'

Rachel wills her heart to slow and to lift, rather than making her feel so disappointed to hear that instead of what she'd originally thought would come out of Quinn's mouth. No matter what she does, though, there's a part of her brain – the same one thinking Quinn looks beautiful with her hair down like that and making her heart flutter at their current proximity, no doubt – which wants to believe her original assumption was what Quinn intended to say.

'Thank you. I believe you… And I accept your apology.'

'Good.'

'However...' continues Rachel dramatically.

'Oh no,' says Quinn, groaning. 'Here we go.'

'It's going to take a lot more than that for me to _like _you again. If that is your aim, I suggest you plan some sort of big display, possibly involving unicorns and cupcakes, in order to fully make me trust and forgive you,' Rachel deadpans.

Quinn raises her eyebrow. 'I'll sing and even bake for you if that's what you're getting at, but I don't know if I can get the unicorns for next week.'

'Well, I suggest you try and think of something else, assuming you really want me to smile rather than cry.'

'Of course,' says Quinn enthusiastically. 'I miss the smile you had when we used to spend time together. It'd come right the way up... here...' Quinn had been about to trace the relevant line on Rachel's face. At the last moment she pulls her hand back and blushes scarlet. 'Well, you know the one I mean,' she mumbles.

'I do.'

She saw it mirrored on Quinn's face enough, and she sees it now.

Over the next week Quinn dramatically steps up her efforts of being cordial to Rachel. There are 'Hello's in the corridor, waves as she passes by, even paused by her locker to give her a slightly goofy smile and then run away as quickly as she came.

Nonetheless, there are no big gestures of friendship just yet. Rachel, ever the romantic, is rather disappointed no one has turned up beneath her balcony to sing to her or planted a dozen roses in her locker, and is a little annoyed at the lack of unicorns or even cupcakes.

It's only on the aforementioned second to last glee session that anything happens and Rachel effectively loses any restraint she had on keeping her feelings for Quinn in check.

Her family had told her about the gay cruise a while ago, and had been debating with herself the merits of asking someone to accompany her. She's never once been on holiday with a friend – but then, this is also the first year she's actually felt like she had some semblance of friendship with anyone.

Still, Rachel doesn't even consider asking Quinn. It's too soon, and she doesn't want to rock the boat, pun intended. So the first ten minutes of the meeting is spent telling the glee club about the proposed trip on a gay cruise for three weeks that summer and despite her attempts to recruit, no one seems remotely interested, even Finn – who she assumed would want to make some sort of effort to get her back as his girlfriend. Apparently the "gay" aspect puts him off for some reason.

In some form or another, everyone has made an excuse not to come. With her hands on her hips, she sighs. 'Are you telling me that no one wants to make this trip with me?' she says in exasperation.

'I'm not adverse to going with my dads alone by any means, but I think it might be ... awkward without someone my age there.'

She decides not to mention how badly she really wants someone to come, because at this rate, it doesn't seem like anyone is going to.

Deflated, she imagines returning home to tell her fathers she didn't manage to convince her friends to accompany her – that she _has _no friends.

And then, just as she's losing all hope, there's an unexpected voice from the back. Quinn.

'You didn't ask me.'


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **Obviously at the time of writing this, 'Get It Right' didn't exist, so the original fic had some original (and terrible) lyrics of mine. I thought it was cuter this way.

EDIT: Blargh, sorry about the stupid spacing.

**September 2008**

Throughout her entire middle school career, Quinn was on the cheerleading squad. She was captain back then; it was one of the few things she ever clicked with. Back then it was certainly gruelling and exhausting, but ultimately worth it: there was at least some semblance of unity and teamwork and although the girls were bitchy (as they are consistently whatever school she attends) Quinn soon learns that at McKinley things are vastly different.

There is teamwork here too, of a sort: flawlessly synchronised girls that seem to move together as a single body, something Quinn noted with awe on her first viewing of the squad. As far as unity goes, though? They are only united in their determination to claw their way to the top and relentlessly tread on any fingers hanging onto the ladder on the way up.

The current cheerleading captain, Kelly, had only been instated at the beginning of the school year; the previous captain was kicked off the team for gaining too much weight and according to Coach Sylvester, 'ruining the image of perfectly toned teasing machines' that she was attempting to create to annihilate their competition.

It's not hard to see why Kelly was picked – she is almost like a mini-Sue herself, with their ruthlessness almost on par with each other. At Kelly's feet are the grovelling underlings who swap scathing remarks behind her back when she's not around, hoping to knock the queen off her throne and take her place.

The message is clear: _kill, or be killed._

Quinn isn't quite sure which one is more likely to happen to her. After watching in fascinated horror at the blood-thirsty way the other girls character-assassinate each other she's thinking it'll be the latter, especially while she's on the figurative and literal position at the very bottom of the pyramid. It's only her second week of practising and right now, they're working on their pyramid formations. Quinn suspects it's less actual practising than an exercise in learning their place.

Since it's the beginning of the year the coach wants to personally oversee every practice in order to fully 'drum the message into their thick skulls' that Sue Sylvester doesn't settle for anything less than 'perfect'.

It's coming in loud and clear, since Quinn has never felt more exhausted. On either side of her Santana and Brittany are kneeling too, flushed with the effort of keeping the cheerleaders digging their knees into their backs upright.

Coach Sylvester paces a line in front of them, screaming abuse through her megaphone as she does. No one is safe from her idiosyncratic insults.

'Johnson! Straighten up, you're wobbling so much you're giving me motion sickness.'

'I've had bowel movements with more talent than you, Reed!'

'Lopez! Brittany! Stop looking at each other. Focus!'

'Fabray!'

Quinn wobbles a little, shocked at her name being called. It sends a tremble through the entire formation and several of the girls shout down at the blonde on the bottom.

'Yes Coach?' she pants, managing to get her body back in balance. Sue stomps forward, bending down and glaring at the her. Her eyes rake over Quinn's posture, which is perfectly stable now despite her earlier wobble.

'Mediocre,' she hisses, then storms back up the line. That's all she gets. One word. Maybe it's a compliment. Then again... it probably isn't.

* * *

Half an hour later, Quinn's arms ache so much it feels like she's been lifting elephants rather than cheerleading. It's never been so intense for her, and over the past week there's barely been any time to relax at all. While the rest of the team are complaining in earnest, the one time Quinn opens her mouth to make a comment she's quickly told to shut up by some of the older members.

'No one asked you,' snaps one nastily.

Quinn scowls at the offending girl. 'Listen, you b –' Some survival instinct tells her to shut her mouth and let the comment fade. Although she doesn't finish her thought, it's fairly obvious what she was about to say and they shove her roughly as they walk past. Quinn just barely keeps her balance while they rush ahead to the showers, cackling immaturely like a bunch of particularly evil school children.

Santana pats her elbow in an awkwardly sympathetic kind of way and Brittany squeezes her hand for a second before letting go. They both wander off to the showers together.

It calms Quinn somewhat, but already her anger is rapidly fading in light of a new issue: getting undressed. She takes her time doing it, wishing to prolong the time before having to get into the shower. The other Cheerios strip off without a thought and hop in. If only it were that easy for her – instead the communal showers are becoming the worst part of her day.

The reason why? Their bodies.

It started from the very first practice.

She's no stranger to getting changed in front of people and usually, she's one of the least people to feel shy about her own body. After last week, though, she can't help it. Just as she'd pulled her shirt over her head and turned around in order to fold it up, she'd caught sight of the rest of her team, all in various states of undress and just ended up gaping unattractively like a shocked goldfish.

Although each one of them looked different with clothes on, when they were half naked and showing off their bodies more blatantly it was easy to see the similarities. And _every single one _had been an amazingly beautiful shape; delicately slender but with strong, taut stomachs and thighs, each one thinner than the rest.

Santana had needed to smack her quite sharply on the arm to stop her staring before anyone noticed. The resulting teasing, although expected, was quite light. Plus Quinn had received a knowing look she still couldn't work out the origin of.

After a week she should be used to it by now. She isn't. It's still difficult not to eye their figures critically and compare against her own - particularly when the toned and lean bodies are being practically shoved right in her face. And when a glance down reveals her own plump stomach and chunky thighs – well, it's not her fault she can't help but compare, is it?

She's not stupid, or blind; she knows she's passably pretty, enough to turn a few heads of overly hormonal boys. Guys are easy, though, especially at this age. Her sister taught her that, advised her as soon as she developed breasts on how she could carefully use her "assets" (a pun Allie was very fond of) to get her way in high school.

Allison never warned her how difficult girls could be, though. At school, Quinn is nothing. They take in every flaw, every curve that goes in the wrong way, her muscles that are defined - but not enough.

There's nothing beyond a mocking snigger or badly concealed comment behind their hands when the other girls eyes rake over her form, knowing full well Quinn knows what sort of things they're saying. They make it perfectly clear that _she _isn't enough with their looks and their laughter.

The rush of water squeaks to a stop when Quinn wrenches the tap back around, shrugging a towel around her body as quickly as she can. It was a short shower and most people are still washing up, but at least that means she can change in peace without being late to her lesson.

She's just stuffing her still slightly damp body back into clothes when Charlotte – also a quick washer - taps her shoulder.

'Hey,' she says. 'Someone's keeps knocking at the door and asking for you. She won't go away.'

Someone's waiting for her? Santana and Brittany are in the showers still – sneaking peeks at each other none too discreetly – so she has no idea who it might be. Quinn snatches up her jacket and puts it on, the drying dampness on her skin making her cold.

The exit is the other side of a partition wall to stop people seeing in, thankfully, so no one sees exactly who is waiting in the doorway. And it's just as well, because it's Rachel Berry, her arms crossed impatiently, looking over her shoulder and not in Quinn's direction.

'What are you doing here?'Quinn blurts without thinking.

Rachel's head snaps around at the sound of Quinn's voice. 'Quinn! I - oh!' She steps back suddenly, her face turning bright red. She holds a hand up to shield her eyes. 'I'm so sorry. I didn't think you'd be… wet...'

Quinn's mind, ever the teenager, jumps straight to the gutter.

It takes her a moment to shake off those thoughts before she realizes what the problem is. Having not had time to dry herself properly, her Cheerios top is clinging rather snugly to her chest and those _assets _she was thinking of earlier are a little too visible for her liking, especially in front of this girl. She quickly pulls her jacket ends together, covering herself up.

She says, mortified, 'I was just getting changed, I'm sorry...'

Rachel peeks through the gaps in her fingers, then slowly lifts her hands away. Her cheeks are still pink. 'It's no problem! A – after all, you have nothing I don't have and of course I've seen my own, so I shouldn't be tu - I mean, embarrassed, at all…'

Considering how cool and composed Rachel seemed the other day, it's a relief to see that she gets embarrassed about things as well. She suppresses a smile. 'W as there something you wanted, Rachel?'

'Ah! Yes, thank you for reminding me.' Rachel clears her throat, smoothing out the creases in her skirt. 'You'll have to excuse me, I'm a little all over the place this morning. Anyway, my reason for coming here and bothering you ... W ell, I – you had the flyer when we met last, so I wondered... I was going to ask...'

She's floundering again. Quinn says pointedly, 'Sometime today would be nice?'

The comment makes Rachel's eyes narrow. This time, she speaks slower and more deliberately. 'There's another glee meeting. I wondered if you wished to audition today.'

Quinn blinks at her. In all honestly, in the time since she started at McKinley, she'd forgotten that the school even had a glee club. All the so-called 'freaks' of the school started to blur into one after a while, although she isn't sure she'd classify Rachel as a freak, even though the rest of the school ignored her. Nonetheless, there aren't many 'gleeks' other than Rachel for a reason; joining the club is social suicide. As such, Quinn isn't in a hurry to join them after her brief brain lapse last week.

Rachel continues, seemingly unaware of Quinn's unresponsiveness. 'I would've sought you out later in the day, but I didn't seem to be able to find you anywhere.' With good reason – whenever Quinn saw her in the hallways she did a quick u-turn in the other direction, wary of being caught up in another conversation where she could potentially look like an idiot again. Rachel's caught on apparently. 'Then I remembered you joined the Cheerios and decided the best plan of action was to seek you out now, before class starts.'

The verbose sentences are too much for Quinn's brain to get around. Another thing she'd forgotten – how much Rachel talks. Rubbing her forehead, Quinn says dimly, 'Oh... I don't know, Rachel. Isn't the glee club, like, full?'

Rachel huffs. 'Quinn, we have a total of three people attending every practice. One of them is me. The other is Jacob Ben Israel, who simply stares at me the entire time. He can't even sing nursery rhymes. The final one – who, as a teacher, doesn't actually count as a member - is Mr Ryerson.' She shudders. 'And he is simply a creepy man altogether. In fact, I even suspect he may have been inappropriate with a male student.'

Quinn resists the urge to roll her eyes at Rachel's dramatics. 'Then he's probably gay. Leave him with Jacob, you'll be fine,' she reassures her.

Okay, maybe it's a slightly off-colour joke, but it's meant to make Rachel laugh. However, Quinn suddenly finds just over five feet of brown hair and tanned skin right in her face.

'I will _not _be fine!' shrieks Rachel. 'Quinn, I cannot be expected to fully realise my dream of being on Broadway if I am being stunted by the lack of members in our glee club! How can I be expected to shine if we never perform at competitions because there is only one member!'

'I thought you said there were two, not including the teacher,' she retorts weakly.

'Two – but only one with talent!'

Rachel's voice is much too loud, especially around the ears of cheerleaders practically salivating in their eagerness for dirt to dig up on each other. Quinn realises a split second too late that it will undoubtedly attract the attention of the cheerleaders only on the other side of that wall.

A giggle from her left indicates that she was correct in her assumption. The two twins, Kylie and

Lauren are watching them eagerly.

'Are we interrupting something?' says one of them (Quinn doesn't know which). Her eyebrows are raised above maliciously glittering eyes that rake over the scene before her, already calculating how to twist this to her advantage. Her sister's expression matches it perfectly.

It isn't going to need much twisting. That flush in Rachel's cheeks never quite disappeared. In fact, it's been made even worse by her passionate outburst about needing more members for the glee club. Add to that the fact that Quinn's clothes are rumpled, and the miniscule space between the two of them, and they never stood a chance. There's no doubt in Quinn's mind what the two cheerleaders are thinking about the two of them.

Her next actions are purely reflexive.

She only intends to push Rachel away from her but does it a little too hard. The impact sends the girl stumbling back through the door and she ends up on her backside. Of course, this all happens to the endless amusement of the cheerleaders, who break into peals of raucous laughter at the expense of the humiliated brunette at Quinn's feet.

Horrified, Quinn rushes forward and tries to help her up but Rachel is already getting up.

She doesn't miss the flash of tears in Rachel's eyes as she turns and runs away.

* * *

The next time they meet, Quinn is in the choir room.

The reasons why she's there are perfectly formed in her mind. If anyone bothers to ask, she has a note for Brad from 'Mr Schuester'. She even wrote the note herself to fool anyone nosy enough to ask for more information (although she might be a little stuck if either man comes in). It's lunch, though. Only one person – two, if she includes herself that day - hangs out in this room.

And okay, _maybe _the whole reason she's here is because she felt guilty doing that to Rachel in front of the Cheerios, even by accident. It was entirely her fault, after all, and she knows how hurtful those laughs can be so Quinn wants to apologise. Mainly so she'd stop feeling bad every time she passed Rachel and the girl would give her those large, hurt brown eyes that made her feel worse than the time she accidentally spilled paint all over Brittany's stuffed duck in a third grade art class.

However, the reason she found her in the first place is definitely _not_ because she followed Rachel at lunch, the same day of that cheerleading practice. At the time she'd been sitting at the Cheerios table, looking around to distract herself from downing every item of food around. She had a new diet to stick to following her first weighing.

Her eyes had immediately locked on Rachel, who'd been eating with enough speed that Quinn was surprised she hadn't choked yet, washing down a sandwich with several gulps from a thermos. She was completely alone at her table, and her attention was solely on her food and eating as quickly as possible.

When that was accomplished she'd jumped to her feet and left the room speedily. Quinn found herself automatically following and having to hastily mumble something about using the bathroom when the others gave her strange looks.

When she'd tracked Rachel's destination to the choir room, Quinn found she'd locked the door. Thus, she couldn't follow Rachel in – not that she was following her, obviously. But she did need to apologise, and so she'd devised her plan to sneak in the next day: knock and tell Rachel she needed Brad, and when he wasn't there she'd insist Rachel help her look for him since they were obviously better acquainted. If he was there, then she'd just have to run away.

A flawless plan, no doubt.

To her delight, though, when Quinn arrives the next day she finds the door wide open and waiting, the melodic sounds of piano playing floating through the doorway. This is the reason why Quinn finds herself hovering at the threshold and watching Rachel Berry at the piano, head bent over pages of sheet music balanced in her lap, the other hand resting on the keys. Her foot taps to a silent rhythm in her head. Rachel's too busy scribbling away to notice Quinn's presence.

After some time, Rachel lifts her other hand to the piano keys. She begins to play a simple chord sequence, with hesitant and slow moving hands. However, despite her obvious inexperience, the notes resound strongly nonetheless.

'That sounds pretty,' says Quinn before she can stop herself. She forgets Rachel doesn't know she's there, and Rachel jumps, scattering papers and knocking the book to the floor with a loud clatter. The other girl darts around in panic and when she sees who it is, she doesn't seem any calmer - in fact, her face tightens even more.

Quinn quickly holds her hands up in a gesture of peace. 'Sorry!' says Quinn as apologetically as she can muster. 'I think I'm making causing you to drop your stuff into a habit.'

Rachel practically growls at her, as though Quinn had intruded on a wild animal's space. 'What are you doing here?' she snaps.

It's not the greeting she would've liked. Slightly put out, Quinn indicates the fake note in her hand. 'I was looking for Brad. The music assistant?'

'He's not here,' replies Rachel curtly.

'I can see that. Unless you're secretly a grown man with glasses and a moustache,' she says jokingly. Rachel doesn't look at all amused. Quinn's smile fades and she shifts uncomfortably.

'That was supposed to be funny...'

Rachel rolls her eyes. She turns away and starts playing again, acting as though she was never interrupted. This time, however, her playing is even worse since her sheet music is still on the floor. The notes alternate being far too quiet and coming out too powerfully. She's clearly distracted.

Unfortunately for Rachel, Quinn does not take the silent treatment well. Gritting her teeth, she slams the door shut and strides over to Rachel, arms crossed and an eyebrow raised at the sulky diva. 'You know, I did come here to apologise, but if you're not going to listen... Guess I won't show you any of the music I can play on the piano that is perfect for karaoke, if someone wanted to sing along. Any pop song. Name it.' Rachel snorts. 'Hip hop?' A head shake. 'Rock.' A shrug. 'Uh... Broadway?'

After a moment, Rachel stiffens and Quinn thinks she's hit the right note, so to speak.

She rolls her eyes when Rachel ignores her even more. W ell, if she's going to be a child about it...

Quinn swings her legs over the piano bench and, using her hip, nudges the girl further up the piano bench in order to sit beside her. Rachel nearly falls off the other side but Quinn catches her and hauls her upright.

'You were ignoring me,' says Quinn, shrugging, in answer to Rachel's indignant expression.

'I wasn't aware I was obligated to speak to you!'

'Man, are you always so immature about these things?' she says in exasperation. Rachel scowls, muttering, 'You're immature' before turning back to her keys - and it's then that Quinn notices.

She is _actually _pouting. Pouting! She hasn't seen someone do that during a tantrum since she was ten and it was annoying even then. On the other hand, on this stubborn brunette – it's almost a little... cute. Her bottom lip is in full view, red and fleshy while sticking straight out. Five minutes pass while Quinn's gaze swaps between that lip and Rachel's face, which slowly relaxes from her severe frown.

'Hey, you're not frowning at me anymore,' Quinn points out when she notices.

'I don't want to get frown lines.'

When Rachel says nothing else for another two minutes, Quinn sighs heavily, throwing her hands up. Although she hates to apologise, she did come here for that explicit purpose. She might as well get on with it.

'Okay, Rachel. You win. I'm sorry, alright? I shouldn't have pushed you. I didn't mean to, I swear – it was an instinctive thing.'

'_Instinctive? _Why?' Rachel has stopped playing and now her full attention is on Quinn. Although she doesn't look angry now, her expression is still rather cold.

'Because...' She takes a breath, trailing her finger along a piano key. 'Rachel, you were so close to me, and I could see what was going through their minds. You don't know what those girls are like. They would've torn us both to shreds if there were the slightest chance of us being – being -'

'Lesbians?' supplies Rachel coolly. The ice in her voice makes Quinn wince. 'I had no idea the very idea offended you so much.'

'Hey. It doesn't _offend _me.' It's not _quite _a lie. Although the word lesbian doesn't really gross her out, it does conjure up a strange twisting sensation in her stomach that makes her highly uncomfortable. Still, she's not going to admit to _that._ 'I know how high school works, that's all. I know that being gay in high school is not easy.'

'Really?' Rachel mocks surprise. Quinn had no idea the girl could be so sarcastic. 'That never occurred to me. After all, I've never seen Kurt Hummel being chucked into the dumpster or heard some truly horrific stories from my dads and their friends about how they were treated back then. Don't you think you're just adding to the homophobia by acting like it's something repulsive to you?'

'But I'm _not gay_,' says Quinn in frustration. Again with that twist in her stomach. 'And I told you, it's not… repulsive, to me.'

Rachel's eyebrow arches. 'I didn't say you were.' She eyes Quinn for a few moments, then responds bluntly, 'Straight or not... I still think that you are adding to the negativity surrounding being gay by being so defensive. However,' she adds, 'I can see you were startled, and I believe you when you say you're sorry.' She smiles for the first time since Quinn got here. 'Lucky for you, I do not hold grudges.'

'Yeah, because you totally weren't giving me a hard time or anything,' mutters Quinn.

'You think that was me giving you a hard time? You have much to learn, Fabray.' She nudges Quinn with her foot. 'Now, I believe I was promised some karaoke.'

She suddenly remembers where she is: sitting at a piano, something she hasn't done in quite a while. The leather of the piano seat feels hard and unfamiliar next to her own one, but her hands and feet still find their way instinctively to their positions.

'I haven't played the piano in ages.' She spreads her fingers over the piano's keys, experimentally playing a quick burst of song. Quinn grins broadly as she successfully plays all the notes, getting a little carried away with the rest of the tune so integral to her childhood.

'What's that?'

'Oh, this?' Her rhythm falters slightly in the middle of playing the Zelda theme. She's never been good at speaking and playing at the same time. Her mind can't keep up. 'Um. Just a song...'

On top of her playing a single key sounds loudly above the rest with a clash of notes that makes her wince. Glancing down the length of the piano reveals Rachel's index finger as the culprit. It does its job in derailing Quinn's thoughts and playing so she lets the keys go and waits for the music to fade.

Her eyes follow the finger still remaining there up Rachel's hands. They probably aren't that long in comparison to hers but they are slim and tanned and seem ridiculously well cared for. When her gaze rises she discovers she's been caught staring. Quinn hastily swivels her eyes back to the front.

'Your hands are pretty,' she mutters. 'They're… really feminine?'

Feminine? What?

Rachel chuckles slightly. 'Thanks. No one has ever complimented my hands before.'

'Is that a good thing?'

The girl smirks and Quinn is sent right back to when they first met, when Rachel insisted on dropping as many flirtatious remarks into their conversation as possible. 'From you, maybe.' Before Quinn can comment back – or blush - Rachel bends down, retrieves her fallen sheet music from the floor and also places what appears to be a journal on the piano.

'Fake leather,' Rachel explains needlessly, smoothing her fingers over the material of the front cover. 'My daddy and I are vegans. W e have been trying to convert my dad, but he hasn't really taken to it.'

'I think I'd get on with your dad...'

Rachel snorts. She begins to flip through her book, only needing to turn a few pages until she finds the one she wants. Quinn's eyes scan the music staves on one page and the lyrics on the other, full of many erased pencil marks and crossing outs.

'Is that what you were you playing when I came in?' she asks.

Rachel sighs. 'Kind of. Written here is just the melody and lyrics. I was messing with chords, trying to find the right combination.'

Quinn takes the book and carefully tries out the melody on the piano. 'It's nice.'

'It's _empty_. I've been trying to work out an accompaniment for a while now, but nothing flows.'

'How long have you been playing?'

'Not long. In fact, I didn't see the need for more than weekly lessons until it was pointed out to me I need the experience in as many different areas of instrumentation if I am ever to be an EGOT winner.'

'EGOT?'

'Emmy, Grammy, Oscar, and Tony award.'

Quinn tries not to laugh. 'Rachel Berry, EGOT winner. Yep, rolls right off the tongue.'

'Doesn't it though?' Rachel beams at her, pleased. 'I'm determined to become a competent piano player. The only problem is that I can hear the music in my head, perfectly formed - but my hands can't keep up.'

'But you can sing it just fine?' At Rachel's nod, Quinn sits up straighter and returns her hands to the piano keys. 'So you sing, and I'll improvise. I'm pretty skilled with my hands, it might help.'

The brunette swallows, a peculiar expression crossing over her face before she regains control

of her mouth. 'You would do that?'

'Yeah, sure.' She suddenly realises Rachel might not have actually wanted her to and now she's intruding on something personal to her. 'I mean, only if you want me to. It's your creation. I would understand if you didn't want to let anyone else near it.'

'No – I mean, you can improvise? I always find that quite difficult.'

'Maybe you worry about technique and 'correct' playing rather than just relaxing into the music,'

suggests Quinn. 'I get that. Here. Let me show you. Play with me.'

Again, that strange look on Rachel's face. Quinn decides to ignore it in the absence of an explanation. She slides her fingers into the spaces between Rachel's right hand and places it on the keys, taking up the chords on the left side.

She can feel her heart picking up at what she's about to do – the piano seeming to pulse along with her. Quinn doesn't know this piano at all; it's not at all like the pristine, glossy black one they have at home which her parents keep in such good nick they almost seem disappointed Quinn has to play it occasionally. This one has chips, scratches in the varnish, even scrawled graffiti around the keyhole. None of that takes away from the sound though, and Quinn can feel the energy bubbling right beneath the surface at her fingertips. This instrument, right here in the choir room, is going to be important to them.

It's there as Rachel starts playing the song that signifies the beginning of their connection through music, the song they'll remember forever -

… Twinkle Twinkle, Little Star.

The brunette laughs at Quinn's incredulous look.

'Don't judge: this was the first song I learned for piano. Plus, I used to sing this song when I was younger, but I'd say 'gold star' instead so it holds some sentimental value.'

'Really?' asks Quinn, amused. Experimentally, she plays the basic chord sequence that goes with it, fumbling a little when her fingers bump into Rachel's which are at a strange angle. Rachel quickly shifts them away.

'Sorry,' she mumbles, clearing her throat. 'Gold stars are kind of my thing. They're a

metaphor…' They've fallen into a slow but accurate rhythm now. 'And metaphors are important.' Quinn smiles at her approvingly. 'Are you ready to try at your song?'

'I only have the chorus.'

'Doesn't matter. Once we work that out, the rest of the song will probably come easier.'

'Alright,' says Rachel doubtfully. 'What I have is written up there.' She points at the open book.

Quinn nods.

Rachel clears her throat and starts humming that same melody she heard earlier; Quinn closes her eyes, internalising it. Once the brunette feels ready, she starts to sing. Quietly, but with slowly gathering confidence.

_'What can you do when your good isn't good enough, when all that you touch tumbles down? 'Cause my best intentions keep making a mess of things, just want to fix it somehow. But -_' Rachel's voice suddenly falters. 'I don't know what to put on the last line. I have an idea, but I – I don't know.'

'What's your idea?'

She sings again, much more breathy and soft; Quinn shivers a little. _'But how many times will it take… to get it right?_

'Perfect.'

'Really?'

'Yeah.' Rachel grins at her broadly. 'A little piano this time?'

This time, when Rachel sings, Quinn tries her best to fill in the chords based on what she sees in front of her and what she's hearing. It's difficult trying to listen and make things up at the same time – and many times, they clash, but by the fifth time Quinn has managed to set up a reasonable accompaniment.

'Quinn!' says Rachel, turning to her and beaming widely. 'That sounds brilliant.'

'I don't know.' Quinn frowns at the staves. 'It sounds strange here.' Without thinking, Quinn begins singing the line herself. 'To get it right… What?' she says, startled to see Rachel staring at her.

'Your voice is really pretty,' she says honestly.

Quinn's taken aback and can't help the blush flooding her cheeks. 'Um, thank you. Coming from you, that's a big compliment…'

'I meant it,' continues Rachel. 'Although you are slightly nasal and just slightly veering off into "sharp" territory.'

'Maybe I spoke too soon about it being a 'big compliment',' she says wryly. Quinn manages to fix the chord so it sounds right; it was almost instinctual in that when she came to that particular part her hands just immediately knew where to go. She sings the chorus again and this time Rachel joins in with a harmony that catches Quinn off guard with how well their voices mesh.

It's probably the music, but in that moment, she feels more connected to Rachel than she has to anyone else before. It's in the slowly fading echoes of the piano's last cadence, hanging in the air between them as Quinn receives the brightest smile she's even seen from the girl.

'Thank you so much, Quinn. You've been so much help today – so much I'll overlook the fact you forged a note for a teacher. You dropped your note for 'Brad',' says Rachel by way of explanation at Quinn's surprised face. 'My eyesight is very good, you know. And you might want to change your handwriting when pretending to be Mr Schuester: I have him for Spanish.'

'I should know better than to try and trick you, obviously,' she deadpans.

'See you remember it,' says Rachel, smirking. She pats Quinn's arm. 'Don't hesitate to come back another day, though. You don't need a note.'

'I'll remember that.'

Rachel smiles at her and reaches for her journal, already starting to scribble down the chord progressions Quinn created.

Quinn continues to play while she does so, highly aware of the tingles that run down her spine every time her arm brushes Rachel.

**May 2010**

'Break a leg,' says Rachel.

'I love you,' says Finn.

And Rachel says nothing in response.

There's nothing she _can_ say.

* * *

'We've got that place in the bag!' exclaims Tina to Rachel.

'Screw that, we are gonna win this!' Rachel growls, squeezing the girl's shoulder. The others

laugh and rush past. In the excitement, no one notices Judy Fabray lurking to the side.

'Qunnie?'

Quinn's face, which was previously lit up with a beaming smile, freezing. She stops dead in the corridor, whirling around.

'Mom,' whispers Quinn in disbelief.

Puck, Kurt, and Santana file into the room last. Puck holds his finger up to his lips and indicates over his shoulder to the two women outside; as one, the whole group sidles closer to the scene and try to look like they're not eavesdropping.

'What are you doing here?' asks Quinn, a touch of panic in her voice. 'Is dad okay?'

'I came to hear you sing,' says Judy breathlessly, the grin broad on her face. Quinn glances back over her shoulder and sees the stares of the other glee club members who immediately pretend they're not listening. Quinn's eyes take a second longer to leave Rachel's, the brown eyes blinking back at her steadily before turning away as well.

* * *

It strikes Rachel then, watching Judy tell Quinn that her husband cheated and she left him, how similar they look outside of the obvious things. It's the way they are stepping around each other so warily, despit e the presence of Judy's achingly wide smile and her obvious happiness. It's the matching tension in their shoulders, carrying themselves so guardedly, as though expecting someone to hurt them at any moment. And with their history together, it's not such a ridiculous conclusion to come to.

By now no one is pretending they're not eavesdropping, although no one looks directly at them except for Rachel. Privacy has given way to concern for a girl most of them never thought they'd care about, let alone be friends with. But no one will deny they all feel protective of her against the family that has already hurt her so much.

Judy steps forward into Quinn's space. She makes like she wants to reach out and touch Quinn but she draws back at the last moment.

Instead she wrings her hands and gazes at her daughter. The hush of the club's members allows Judy's whisper to carry across the room. 'Quinnie. I- I want you to come home with me.'

The room's occupants collectively hold their breath and wait for Quinn to respond.

A few of them expect Quinn to turn her mother out on her ear, reject her the way her father did to her upon hearing about the pregnancy. These are the ones that know her less well and see only the head cheerleader who wouldn't take abuse from anyone. They don't know her any other way, imagining this gentler and more vulnerable Quinn to be the fake one.

The others - the ones who are her friends, have heard Quinn cry at the night or pretended not to in the bathroom - know the opposite, that the HBIC image is just that. An image. Inside, she's just a girl who wants her mom and dad. They see the fear of rejection warring with her need for stability again.

And then there's Brittany and Rachel. One girl can read people; the other just knows Quinn and can see immediately something's wrong, but her own mother doesn't. They both step forward; Kurt and Santana seize their arms to stop them moving any closer, because Quinn still hasn't said a word.

The silence is starting to get to Judy. 'I can turn the guest room into a nursery,' she adds, slightly desperately. Then she pleads, 'Oh, sweetie, say something.'

Quinn takes a shuddering breath. 'My water just broke.'

There is a short moment where everyone in the room gasps, remaining still from shock.

Then it's over. Rachel springs forward out of Kurt's grip and everyone else jerks into action again too. Rachel has Quinn by the arm directing her out, ordering others to fetch the blonde's stuff and organising everyone into groups to travel to the hospital. Even Santana doesn't argue with her for once– probably thanks to the fierce look on her face that warns them not to question her.

At the door, accompanied by Judy with her hand on her daughter's back to steady her, Rachel turns to Quinn. When calling her name doesn't get her attention, she squeezes her hand. She looks pale and frightened and in the confusion.

'Quinn, you're going to be fine. Everything will be fine, I promise.' Rachel says, darting forward and kissing Quinn on the cheek. It doesn't seem to register with Quinn; her eyes are wide and terrified. 'Make sure someone calls me when the baby is born.'

'Are - aren't you coming?'

She smiles sadly. 'You don't need me there. And anyway, someone needs to stay and watch the competition...'

'But...'

Rachel doesn't know what Quinn is about to say, but for a moment she actually looks troubled about the fact Rachel is staying. Then Santana is pushing at Quinn's back, saying, 'Q, we gotta go.'

Judy snatches up Quinn's hand and tugs her away. The others hurry after, throwing Rachel somewhat understanding glances. After all, in their eyes she hates the girl – not surprising, after everything Quinn did to Rachel. They think she doesn't care or want to be with her.

Only Kurt gives her a knowing glance as he leaves, the only one aware of the real reason she's staying.

Of course she cares. It's Quinn.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Man, rewriting the prequel is making me nostalgic and wish I finished the sequel. I'm sorry that never happened, for those of you that wanted it - I totally lost my confidence in it part way through. Although if anyone is curious about what was going to happen in the sequel, I can totally spoil it via PM for you since it was based on a prompt from the rachel/quinn meme =P This fic feels so much shorter than I remember…**

**September 2008**

_Psst, Quinn. - R_

_What? And you don't actually have to write psst in your note, you know - Q_

_It's for dramatic effect. As a budding actress this is something I need to practice as much as I can. One day I may need to perform a role where I pass notes, and thus my ability to "psst" will come in handy. - R_

_... I don't know how you managed to squeeze all that writing in on that tiny piece of paper – Q_

_Perhaps I just wanted you to use your paper instead of wasting mine. – R _

_Oh so writing to me is a waste now, is it? I see how it is. – Q _

_Don't sulk, Quinn, your face doesn't really suit being all scrunched up like that. – R _

_You're so funny– Q_

_I agree – although I'm much more suited to more tragic and emotional acting –R_

_Shame, your face could perform stand up alone – Q_

_Quinn! That was rude. - R_

_No, that was funny. :) Stop sulking, I've seen your bottom lip enough lately – Q_

_Yeah, you stare at it eno_

Quinn watches in disappointment when Rachel quickly snatches the piece of paper off the desk and hides it in the folds of her skirt as the teacher walks past. She wants to lean forward and ask what she was writing that made her smirk so much, but the teacher stalks past again and aims a glare at her.

Quinn sinks down in her seat instead, and the rest of the lesson goes much slower from that point on.

* * *

She doesn't receive another note in class until a few days later, in the one class they share where there are few people who'd take any notice – Mr Schuester's Spanish class. The small, crumpled up bit of paper smacks her on the forehead, surprising her from taking her notes. When she raises her head to glare at whoever threw it, Quinn hears a muffled giggle and catches a swish of brown hair out of the corner of her eye.

She rolls her eyes, although a grin is tugging at her lips. Quinn glances up at the teacher – he's currently busy reading something from a textbook to himself and not looking. They're meant to be working alone, but of course no one is. Surreptitiously she opens the note beneath the desk.

_Psst, Quinn. - R_

_Berry, what'd I tell you? Stop writing psst, it's not a good conversation opener - Q_

_ How else shall I do it? - R_

_Maybe say hello like a normal person – Q _

_Hello. – R_

_Hi. Did you want something in particular? – Q_

_No. I just like talking to you. Though I can't believe I'm passing notes with you in class, Quinn. I'm going to get in so much trouble if I get caught. - R_

_? You're the one that started it. – Q_

_True, but I think you're a bad influence on me. - R_

_Don't tell me you're not enjoying it. The danger of what we're doing excites you - Q The danger of the possibility of a detention from Mr Schue? - R_

_Sure, Berry. That's what really gets me going - Q_

_I knew it. Underneath that good girl exterior is a bad girl just waiting to come out. - R_

_I'm not a 'good girl'. - Q_

_Quinn, underneath 'good girl' in the dictionary is your name. You're incredibly clever and always know the answers, never set a foot wrong in class or get homework in late, and you never get in trouble. - R _

_You can talk. Plus, I can be bad if I want to – Q_

_I never said I wasn't the same. And, prove it. - R_

_I'm passing notes with you aren't I? - Q_

Rachel's giggle rings out faintly from the desk to the right of Quinn when she reads the note. If not for her listening out for it, she would've lost it in the cacophony of noise in the classroom.

_A risk taker. I like it. - R_

_You know Rachel, you're a freak. But I kinda like that about you I guess? - Q_

Rachel is pretending to frown right now as she looks over the most recent note, but is also fighting a smile. Quinn doesn't wait for Rachel to reply, instead tearing off another sheet of paper from her book and writing a new message on it - '_Don't get too big headed, I only said kinda'_. However, just as she's about to chuck the new note over, Rachel decides to send one back but someone slamming the door shut makes her jump and completely misfire the shot.

It lands instead, as luck would have it, on Santana's desk.

As one, Quinn and Rachel inhale sharply as she raises an eyebrow, casually flicking open the note and glancing over its contents.

When she's finished, Santana snorts loudly, crumples the paper up in her fist and strides over to the garbage can to throw it away. As she returns to her seat, she fires a look at Quinn that clearly says, 'We need to talk.'

* * *

'Passing notes in class is outdated. Things like phones do exist, you know,' says Quinn, waving the relevant cell phone in the brunette's face after class. She'd made Rachel meet her by her locker instead of waiting after class, and then took her time packing up; this was to make sure Santana got so fed up with waiting for her that eventually she just growled that she'd meet Quinn outside.

Rachel has today's note wrapped in some tissue (after having made Quinn retrieve it from the garbage, to her disgust) and keeps beaming at it. 'I think it's much more sentimental to do it on paper. After all, it's easy to delete a text, but it takes a little more effort to get rid of a note like that.'

'What makes you think I'll get rid of it?'

'I should hope you don't,' says Rachel indignantly. 'My words are something to be cherished. Just think, Quinn, one day when I'm famous these notes could be worth a fortune.'

Quinn snorts, albeit in an affectionate way. 'No doubt.' She throws her bag over her shoulder and starts to walk off. Behind her, Rachel huffs but follows nonetheless.

They walk together down the empty halls of the school, having waited long enough for the rush of students trying to leave to pass so they wouldn't be noticed together. Rachel was surprisingly amenable to the idea of keeping their friendship mostly hidden - at least for the time being. Which isn't to say she's happy about it, but she does seem to understand how much Quinn's struggling already to get through school without being pushed by older Cheerios on a power trip and how Rachel's reputation doesn't exactly make it better.

Still, it's a little frightening how close they've gotten in an extremely short space of time, even after their initial bumpy start. And okay, maybe Rachel pisses Quinn off a lot because she doesn't talk about much else other than singing or glee club or musical theatre. And maybe Quinn has a knack for upsetting Rachel accidentally with little comments she makes, often about her height or comparing her to woodland creatures.

It doesn't matter because Rachel is awful at staying mad at people and despite her extremely short (short – ha, Quinn thinks) temper sometimes, Quinn finds it hard to stay mad as well.

Out in the parking lot, Quinn turns to Rachel, intent on making a comment about the way that kid Jacob Ben Israel kept staring at Rachel during lunch. It was something Quinn managed to pick up on even from the other side of the room and she'd had to fight the urge to go over to his table and punch him in the face.

However, Rachel has her arms crossed and is currently glaring up at her with a sulky expression.

Quinn arches an eyebrow at her. 'What?'

'You laughed at the possibility of my future fame,' says Rachel accusingly, her arms akimbo.

'Moi?' She widens her eyes mockingly. 'Never. That must've been some other Quinn.'

'Well, your doppelganger is very rude and doesn't seem to understand how certain it is that I'm going to be a star one day. I've been dancing, singing and acting since I was small enough to fit in my dad's laundry basket and fall asleep there.' Rachel tosses her hair haughtily. 'Maybe if you play your cards right I'll send you a free ticket to come see me in the future.'

Quinn laughs. 'Is that so? How do you know I won't have already bought my front row ticket as soon as they're available?'

Rachel just waggles her finger at Quinn. 'That's a good idea. They're going to sell out like wildfire in the future, you just wait.' A beep interrupts their conversation and Quinn sees the car pull up and Rachel's father appears. He waves Rachel over. 'That's my ride,' says Rachel, turning to the other girl. She frowns slightly, placing her hand on Quinn's bicep and squeezing gently. She does that a lot. Quinn's starting to think Rachel has some sort of arm fetish. 'Are you sure you'll be able to handle Santana?'

'I've known Santana for years. She'll probably give me crap for being friends with you, but I can handle it, don't worry,' says Quinn reassuringly.

'Okay...' Rachel sounds doubtful. However, the beep comes again, indicating Rachel really has to leave.

There's a moment of awkwardness where neither of them are quite sure what to do now they need to say goodbye. Rachel is rather touchy-feely - Quinn found this out the other day when an eager brunette launched herself into her arms in an enthusiastic hug after school. It's not that she minds hugs – she just doesn't like nearly swallowing a head full of hair or nearly cracking her head open by being knocked over. Since then Rachel's backed off but now it's down to Quinn to initiate. And she hates initiating.

After a few seconds where neither of them do anything but stare at each other, Quinn reaches out and - pats Rachel on the shoulder. She winces as soon as she does it, knowing it's a hopelessly inadequate farewell.

Rachel laughs at her good-naturedly, however, patting Quinn on the shoulder too before skipping off into her dad's car. She waves from the passenger seat wildly, prompting Quinn to smile a little and wave back. She does so until the car disappears around the corner and then makes a run for it, backtracking to the other exit of the school where she knows Santana is still waiting, hoping she's not too angry.

She finds Santana with Brittany, leaning against the bike railings, sitting side by side and with barely an inch between the two of them. Brittany's head is bent towards Santana's while they whisper softly to each other with matching smiles.

Quinn coughs her throat loudly to announce her presence. They don't spring apart like she expects them to, how she would; they just look over, still grinning in an immensely irritating way.

Santana raises a lazy hand in greeting. She seems much less pissy than when she left the classroom. It's probably Brittany's influence. 'Hey, Q. Took your time.'

'Had stuff to do,' says Quinn briskly.

Santana stands up, grabbing Brittany's hand and leading her after Quinn. Quinn turns on her heel, shoving her hands in her coat pockets as she walks a little ahead of the other two.

It's not that she doesn't approve of their relationship - she knows Brittany and Santana act like a couple all the time, that they make out and probably more than that when she's not around. She knows that perfectly well, and doesn't even find it that weird beyond their blatant PDA. Occasionally, however, she just envies how damn happy they seem. It'd be nice, she thinks wistfully, for someone to look at her the way they look at each other.

As if reading their thoughts, both girls suddenly pick up their pace and catch up to her, one on either side. Brittany takes hold of Quinn's arm like always while Santana saunters next to her.

'So Quinn,' begins Santana casually. She glances down at her nails and buffs them on the front of her Cheerios uniform before crossing her arms. 'Where've you been lately? We hardly see you except for practice.'

'I've been busy.'

'I see.'

Quinn glances to the side in time to see Santana and Brittany share a look that Quinn doesn't particularly like.

'What's that look for?'

'Nothing!' Santana smirks but holds up her hand to hide it. Brittany giggles a little on Quinn's right. 'W e were just wondering when "busy" meant "following around one of the dwarf rejects from "Snow White".'

She stops so quickly that Santana walks into her shoulder and Brittany keeps on walking, almost taking Quinn's arm with her.

'Dwarf rejects?' says Quinn slowly.

'Oh, I'm sorry,' says Santana insincerely. 'Would you prefer her to be called a smurfette?' Quinn pushes down the rapid anger rising within her rapidly at Santana's insults to Rachel, a little disturbed by the speed in which it sends her fists clenching at her sides. By Santana's widening smirk, she knows perfectly well she's getting to Quinn. Trying not to rise to the bait, she rolls her eyes and pushes past Santana.

'I don't have a clue what you're talking about.'

'You know exactly what I mean,' says Santana sharply. 'Why are you and Berry suddenly all over each other, passing notes like a couple of kids with crushes?'

'You're exaggerating. We're just friends,' she replies defensively.

'Yeah, but _why_? She dresses like she stole clothes from a retirement home and she never stops talking.'

'She's weird,' Brittany agrees. 'But her singing voice is nice.'

'Are you kidding? I can't stand it, I'm always hearing her chirping away little a fucking songbird in the bathroom,' Santana growls. 'She sounds like a dying cat.'

'Why is a cat dying?'

'It's just an expression, B. Oh, don't get upset, I didn't mean it...'

'W ould you two just shut up?' snaps Quinn. 'I don't see how this is any of your business.'

'Don't tell _us _to shut up, Q. If you don't want to be around us, then go back to Berry already. Just don't expect us to help you out when you get kicked off the Cheerios.'

'What?'

'You heard me.' Santana frowns at her. 'If I didn't already think Berry had melted your brain, the proof is all here. Are you so stupid that you can't see what hanging out with her is going to do to your rep? Half the team already think you two are gay for each other and the rest just hate your guts anyway so they'll spread whatever shit they hear. She's going to fuck it all up for you.'

'They think we're "gay for each other"?' After a pause to consider this, Quinn shakes her head. 'Whatever, Santana, you know rumours don't mean anything. And besides, I don't see how you can make any sort of comment, considering…' Her eyes drag from Santana to Brittany meaningfully. It does its job at diverting Santana's attention from an uncomfortable topic. Santana's face darkens. Brittany watches from the sidelines worriedly.

'Making out isn't dating,' she answers coldly. 'Even if it was, B and I are both Cheerios. And we're hot. People love it. No one's going to fucking tell _us _what to do.'

Quinn narrows her eyes. 'Well, guess what, S? I'm a Cheerio too. And I'm not going to let even _you _fucking tell _me _what to do either.'

She breaks away from the group, taking a sharp right up a road she knows will lead her back to her house despite the lengthy distance. Even though she walks quickly, she still hears Brittany say, 'I hate it when she does that...'

**April 2010**

It takes Rachel only a minute to locate Kurt in the lunch room. Against the backdrop of hooded tops and band t-shirts belonging to the rest of the male population, he stands out well against the crowd with his startlingly white jacket, hands expressively gesturing to underline whatever dramatic point he's making right now. Rachel wonders briefly how he manages to keep his clothing so bright while at McKinley, but the frequency of Slushie facials has rapidly depleted ever since Quinn became pregnant.

Rachel squeezes her way through the masses of tall bodies and manages to eventually plop down into the seat across from him. Although Mercedes and Tina are in the middle of speaking to him, she interrupts their conversation loudly. Vocal lessons come in handy sometimes. 'Kurt, I need to speak to you.'

He and the other two girls share matching "Not again..." expressions. 'Can it wait?' he says, with a roll of his eyes. 'Only, Mercedes and I were in the middle of discussing the situations in which we thought it'd be appropriate to wear argyle.' Kurt glances at her sweater. 'We decided on "never".'

Mercedes laughs, but hides her smile when Rachel shoots her an offended look. 'How many times do I have to tell you, Kurt? Argyle is a perfectly suitable fashion choice, as not only is it comfortable, but it looks good on me too.' She holds up her hand when Kurt opens his mouth, no doubt to send back a scathing rebuttal. 'I didn't come here to argue about my clothes. As I said, I need to talk to you.'

Kurt groans.

Rachel folds her arms. 'I'm not going to leave until you talk to me.'

He sighs in a long-suffering sort of way, looking to the two girls on the table with him who give him sympathetic smiles. 'Fine, Rachel. I'll see you guys later once I've finished talking to the diva.'

'I'm still here, you know.'

'Pity.'

Mercedes and Tina excuse themselves with hugs for Kurt. Tina looks like she wants to hug Rachel too but Mercedes tugs her away too quickly. She settles for an uneasy smile and wave instead.

Across the table Kurt has returned to eating his sandwich with his eyebrow raised in a highly irritating way.

'I wanted to ask you something,' says Rachel.

Kurt waits until he's finished chewing completely before answering, obviously doing it just to wind her up. 'Yes?' he says eventually.

Although Rachel wants to reach across the table and cram the sandwich into his face, she plasters a smile on her face instead. Her fathers always told her not to resolve things using violence. Rachel makes the smile as wide as she can, which seems to unnerve Kurt a little.

Good, she thinks.

'You look like a serial killer,' he tells her.

_Keep it up and I'll become one, _thinks Rachel.

'I'm going to cut to the chase.'

'Hallelujah.'

Rachel scowls and settles for grinding her teeth instead of hitting him. She says slowly, 'Kurt, How did you know you were gay?'

This time, there are no bitchy remarks; Kurt's sandwich freezes on the way to his mouth. His eyes are wide, as though he's just been told Barbra Streisand is his biggest fan.

'W ell now,' he says, staring at her. 'This is certainly unexpected. Did you honestly just say what I think you did? The number one prelude to the "I think I'm gay" conversation?'

'I wasn't even aware there _are_ "preludes" to those kinds of conversations.'

Kurt waves a hand, putting his sandwich back down. 'Of course there are. Stop changing the subject, Rachel Berry, you're not getting out of this that quickly.' He puts his elbows down on the table, leaning towards her eagerly. His eyes glitter at the prospect of gossip. 'Tell me everything! What brought on this little realisation?'

Rachel scoffs. 'You know, you're being very presumptuous. How do you know what I came over here to tell you? I might well be doing... research.'

'For what?'

'A … school paper, perhaps.'

He raises an eyebrow expectantly. 'Well, are you doing research for a paper?'

A beat of silence.

'No.'

'W ell then,' drawls Kurt, 'I believe you've cornered yourself.' He takes up his drink and slurps it in a satisfied way, dabbing at his mouth with his napkin. 'Go on. I want to h ear about your little gay epiphany.'

Kurt is more dramatic than she is, sometimes. 'It wasn't an epiphany as such – I'm merely exploring options. I want to get my information correct before I make any ... hasty decisions.'

'And you hope to learn about this from... me?'

'Who else?'

'Maybe Brittany or Santana,' he suggests, a tad snarkily.

'Oh, please. Like I could get within a few feet of Santana without being beaten up or verbally abused, let alone ask them for help.'

'Fair point.' Kurt rests a finger against his cheek in thought. 'Have you considering asking Ms Pillsbury? I'm sure she has a relevant pamphlet which would help you.'

Rachel sighs. 'Kurt, we're dealing with feelings here. They can't be explained in a pamphlet, unless they can magically tell me the reason why said feelings for – for _women_ – disappeared and are now back, full force.'

'Hormones,' explains Kurt. 'Or maybe you simply repressed them. We've all been there. Ooh!' He sits up suddenly, his eyes twinkling maniacally. 'Ask Quinn!'

'Quinn?'

'Of course.' Kurt fails at hiding a giggle.

'Why her?'

'Haven't you heard the rumours?' He rolls his eyes and smooths his hair back. 'The Cheerios were always said to have a bit of a Sapphic edge to them – but people have been saying Quinn only slept with Puck to deflect speculation on her sexuality. Obviously, she didn't think of the repercussions,' he adds.

'That doesn't sound like Quinn,' says Rachel, frowning severely.

'Oh, doesn't it?'

'What does that mean?'

'I'm just saying... Mercedes is friends with Quinn now, and Mercedes is still my best friend. Therefore I am her friend too, and we've spent some time together. The girl is setting off everyone's gaydar.' He leans in even further, dropping his voice to a whisper. 'And between me and you, we might've had a sneaky peek at the files on her computer once... And we've found out some _interesting_ things. '

He's treating the entire thing like it's a juicy scandal about someone they don't know, acting like Rachel is Mercedes and would giggle cattily with him, whispering back tidbits of information she found out. And if it were anyone else, she probably would've done – but it's Quinn. She doesn't even care that he's saying she might be into women, too focused on the excitement of his own blatant invasion of privacy going on.

'You're an ass,' Rachel tells him flatly.

The boy reels back at the remark. 'Excuse me?' he says, sounding peeved. Kurt snatches up his drink and unscrews the cap, taking an irritated swig. 'I just thought _you'd_ be interested.'

'I said you're an ass. Going through her personal things like that? She's your friend, she trusts you, and the two of you simply betray that for the pursuit of mindless gossip in the lunchroom?' Her rant is gaining volume, attracting the attention of a few onlookers. She glares at them until they switch their attention away from her. 'I'm completely disappointed in the both of you.'

Kurt regards her carefully – still drinking. He swallows and then, slowly, lowers the bottle to the table.

'Rachel,' he says. 'You're lucky I have perfected the art of containing my surprise so I don't spew my drink everywhere. Otherwise I would be making you pay for a new pair of Alexander McQueen pants.'

'What're you talking about?

He snorts softly. 'You know what I'm talking about. I suppose I can't blame you. If I wasn't so gay I would probably like her too.' At Rachel's blank look, he says, 'What? Just because I'm not attracted to your gender doesn't mean I'm blind.'

'Kurt, I mean it. I don't have the faintest idea what you're saying right now.'

'I'm talking about Rachel Berry, who made cat calendars for her boyfriend and wore a "Team Finn" shirt, having a crush on Quinn Fabray.' He shakes his head. 'And how I am not the least bit surprised to find that out.'

Rachel flushes bright pink. 'I don't know what you're talking about,' she mumbles ineffectually.

Kurt chortles at her. 'A word of advice? You suck at denial. That sort of thing is much better left

off to certain blonde, repressed cheerleaders.'

'You know nothing about me, Kurt, so I don't know why you're automatically assuming I am a lesbian...'

'I never said that. For all I know, you're bisexual.'

'How would I know?'

Kurt shrugs and says bluntly, 'Do women turn you on just as much as men?' Rachel turns pink. 'Oh please. I've heard worse from the mouth of Santana, don't you worry. I'm practically immune to it these days.'

Rachel covers her burning face with her hand. 'I suppose I've been...' Why is she even telling Kurt anything, anyway? This was a stupid idea, yet the words keep coming. 'I've been... attracted to men, certainly. There's never been any problem in that department. I've even felt...'

He holds up a hand to pause her, making a face. 'Actually, forget what I just said. I might be asking blunt questions, but I beg of you: please keep it to the G rated version.'

'I was merely about to make the point that although I've been turned on in the presence of men,

I have felt the same around women too.' She clears her throat. 'Or, one in particular.'

Kurt "hmm"s. 'You're probably Quinn-sexual - a rare breed of heterosexual woman that only becomes attracted to her. I hear they're quite common.' He sniggers. 'So, you've never been attracted to another girl besides her?'

Rachel hesitates.

'Ooh.' Kurt picks up on it, and he seems to be nearly leaping out of his seat in excitement. 'Who? Dish.'

'Santana and Brittany, a little. And only briefly, before I knew them properly.'

'Oh.' He sits back in his seat, disappointed. 'That's not surprising at all. I thought it'd be Suzy Pepper or someone equally embarrassing.'

'I'm sorry to deprive you of your fun,' says Rachel sarcastically. 'Not that my issues are at all distressing.'

'Distressing?' repeats Kurt. 'What's so distressing about it? You like Quinn, and other girls. You like men. You've dated Finn, Jesse, and Puck. It shouldn't really be bothering you so much – it's not as if you have a girlfriend or anything, you don't need to tell anyone.'

Rachel takes a breath and releases it slowly, shutting her eyes. 'Every time I kissed Finn, Puck, or Jesse I imagined it was her. I think I might be in love with Quinn.'

'_Ohmy_.'

Kurt stares at her, then slowly reaches into his pocket. He pulls out his phone.

'Mercedes, I'm going to need to catch up with you tomorrow instead. I'm busy right now…'

* * *

'Thanks for helping me,' Rachel says, pulling out the handle of her pink trolley case and standing it upright on Kurt's doorstep. 'I do feel a lot more reassured now. Although, I'm not sure all those DVDs of The L Word were really necessary.'

Kurt, who is leaning against the door, scoffs a little. 'Sweetie, I'm a gay man. I can tell you all you like about homosexuality, but about women? Forget about it. I thought it was important you get some proper information, since I don't know anything about the female side of things.'

'A lot of it was making out, though.'

'All important. You should feel lucky I sat through all that for you, despite needing to shut my delicate eyes.'

Rachel smiles slightly. 'Yes, I suppose I should.' She bites her lip, then says, 'Listen, Kurt –'

'I know what're you're about to say,' he interrupts. 'I won't tell a soul. Promise.' He makes a

gesture as though he were locking up his lips, throwing away the key, and then burying it, and then burning it. He really is more dramatic than she is sometimes.

'Even Mercedes?'

'Even Mercedes,' he says, nodding, '… On the condition that you buy an entirely new wardrobe.'

'Not happening.'

He sighs deeply. 'Damn. Still, you're dealing with this entire thing a lot better than most do, I have to say... Reluctant as I am to compliment you on anything.'

Rachel shrugs, stepping off the doorstep and pulling the case after her. 'My feelings were never an issue. I accepted those a long time ago; I wanted to know how I would identify and label what sexuality I was. I've been ignoring this for a long time, but now I'm ready to devote some

thought to it. I still don't know what to think, but I'll work it out.'

'So tomorrow you could come into school wearing rainbow argyle or a banner that says "Bisexual Berry"?' questions Kurt with a shudder.

'That sounds like a good idea.' Rachel grins at him slyly, holding her hand up to wave at him as she trundles down the path to her daddy's car. 'I'll bring you some of that rainbow argyle too.'

* * *

_Dear Diary,_

_That sounds silly. Normally I don't really write journal entries. I prefer writing my lyrics because I feel like they are the best means for me to express myself - music can convey so much emotion without words. However, some things need to be said, and I need it all out in the open or else I'm afraid I'm going to explode._

_I like Quinn. I've known that for a long time and my feelings, despite the fact that they are for a girl, have never confused me. Crushes are crushes and Quinn is an extremely attractive girl. No one can deny that, so it was only natural that I inevitably develop some sort of attraction *to*_ _her._

_Plus she can sing. And her body is amazing. And have you seen that face?_

_I'm getting distracted._

_In any case… I used to *think* I loved her. She was so kind and dorky and… well frankly a little bitchy, but I liked that. I liked how musical she was, and surprisingly, how shy she could be. I was really happy to finally have a friend and even though I understood that we had to keep it hidden for the most part, I thought she was happy to be my friend too._

_When she ditched me I didn't think I'd ever stop resenting her; every smirk and sneer and snarky comment thrown in my face, every Slushie. I hated that she'd climbed so easily to the top when we'd basically bonded over the way she was a black sheep in her own domain. I hated that it seemed like she_ _was punishing me, even if it was pretty obvious it was just her pushing me away. Mostly, I hated that she made me feel so disposable._

_I still do._

_Once upon a time, I wanted revenge. Now… I just want to put all that hate and hurt aside. I never wanted her to end up like this, pregnant and scared and kicked out by her family. Maybe I thought I wanted her to feel pain like I did, but never seriously. I don't hate her that much. Or at all, even._

_Still, ever since she got pregnant, I feel like we're back on the right track, a bit like how we used to be. But I don't want to get my hopes up - there'sunlimited potential for me to get hurt even more. I'm not an idiot, so I'm not going to do anything. If Quinn Fabray wants to be my friend, then she has to work for it! _

_The time with Kurt today was helpful, despite all his bitchy comments and how much of it he spent rolling his eyes at me. All I really wanted to get out of my time with him was another person's opinion on things, and he didn't seem at all bothered by the fact I may be into women. In fact, he genuinely suspects Quinn is as well, as I have as well._

_Maybe I should just go watch some more of The L Word... I hear there is an episode about trying to work out if someone is gay..._ _It's not about the attractive women making out, I swear!_

* * *

**A/N: So many formatting errors!**_  
_


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Warning for heavily implied bulimia and using the word 'dyke' offensively, I guess. **

**Also, my headcanon is that Quinn was a little small when she came to McKinley, then had a (very late) growth spurt. This appears a lot in this story.**

**October 2008**

Another week, another practice. Quinn can hardly believe she's managed to get through a month of school already. Between classes, family, friends and Sylvester breathing down her neck, it's amazing she hasn't just collapsed from exhaustion yet.

Today she's once again the last to get in the shower. It escapes her notice how quickly everyone left in the first place; she's too busy nursing her sore, aching body, which barely lets her move to raise her arms and take off her clothes. Halfway through trying to struggle out of her shirt she just gives up, finding it too painful. At least it's an after school practice – she can shower at home.

Just as she eases her shirt back down over her head, she feels what are unmistakably hands on her shoulders for second, before they push her back forcefully and make her collide, hard, with the wall behind her. Although she manages to prevent her head banging against the tiles, her bare back still hits it painfully and scrapes along its rough surface. To add insult to injury, Quinn also can't move her arms down thanks to the suddenly resistant material of her Cheerios shirt trapping her in.

She wrestles valiantly until the top is pulled down enough to finally allow her to see who the hell is holding it. To little surprise she finds Kelly keeping her at bay with her forearm laid across Quinn's collarbone, leaning down until their faces are inches from each other's.

'Get off me,' Quinn snarls with more bravery than she feels. She's well aware how idiotic she looks right now with her shirt wrapped around her shoulders, leaving her chest exposed to all the giggling cheerleaders. Even so, she's not going to cower like a loser, especially in front of someone like Kelly, despite how defenceless and humiliated she feels.

Kelly just raises an eyebrow. She digs her elbow into Quinn's shoulder slightly, pressing painfully on the hard bone of her clavicle. 'Fabray, c'mon. Don't be like that. We're friends, aren't we?'

'We're as friendly as I am to the mud on the soles of my shoes,' Quinn shoots back. It may be the wrong thing to say, considering the head cheerleader has the advantage of about 4 inches of height and a year or two more of Cheerios training to add to her strength. But Quinn is just too tired, too grumpy, too sick of the social hierarchy of the cheerleading squad to take this crap today.

'Fabray, Fabray. You might as well listen to me, or this'll be a lot more painful than necessary.'

'I thought I told you to get off me.'

'All I want is some help,' says Kelly patiently, ignoring her. 'Since you're small and kinda geeky looking, you're the perfect person to do this little job for me. No one will suspect you of anything.'

'What job?'

'Well, let's just say my friends and I have a test coming up, and we need answers to it. So what you're going to do is find Miss Peacock's classroom, saunter right in, and get them for us.' Kelly smiles at her. It's far too smug and doesn't reach her eyes.

'I'm not helping you.'

'Too bad, you don't have a choice.' Kelly smile turns grim. She pulls the shirt down properly. For a second the room goes dark before Quinn emerges through the head hole and is able to move her arms again. 'Or maybe I'll just go find your little friend in the disgusting argyle sweaters and make her do it for me, hm?'

Quinn's fists clench at her sides. 'Leave _her_ out of this,' says Quinn sharply.

'Oooh, touch a nerve?' She glances over at her friends. Satisfied they're watching eagerly, she delivers a patronising flick to Quinn's forehead. 'Trying to protect your little lesbian girlfriend?'

She hears a few giggles and whispers from the vicinity of the showers. Quinn stiffens. 'We're not like that.'

'Really?' says Kelly maliciously. 'Well, that's funny, because that's not what your friend Santana said.'

A horrified gasp resounds from Quinn's right. Over Kelly's shoulder, she can just see Santana peering over at them, her eyes wide. 'Quinn, I swear I didn't –'

'Shut it, Lopez, unless you want to be the one running suicides for the entirety of next practice,'

Kelly snarls. At Santana's silence, she nods. She looks entirely too gleeful about exercising her power. 'I thought so.'

'Kelly, let me go or I swear I'll...' threatens Quinn.

'What?' says Kelly, snorting. 'What'll you do? What could a fucking five foot one _dyke_ like you do to me?'

It could be the insult on her height. It could be just being fed up with Kelly and her shit. Or maybe – most likely – it's the word 'dyke'. Just the thought of the word makes her see red. Whatever the cause, it causes Quinn to struggle violently again but time she does it with enough force to finally make Kelly lose her hold on Quinn; her arm breaks free and manages to smack the taller Cheerio around the face with all the might in the blonde's body.

Which is to say, not much. Her limbs were already weak and tired from practice so the blow barely fazes her – but her skin immediately turns pink on that side.

Kelly's eyes lower into slits.

Her anger fades. Quinn sinks back into the wall, trying to make herself seem as small as possible.

The next moment Kelly's right in front of her, grabbing the collar of her shirt and nearly lifting her off the ground. An easy task when Quinn's legs seem to have lost their power of keeping her up. 'You dirty little bitch!' she howls, sending spit flying onto Quinn's face. 'I didn't even hurt you and you go and _punch me? _I can't fucking believe you! You're going to regret ever touching me, Fabray!'

Kelly sinks her fist into Quinn's gut with enough force to double her over. A second slap to side of her head makes her crumbles to the floor, arms wrapped protectively around herself to protect her searing middle from further damage.

In the distant, ringing recesses of her mind she thinks she hears someone shout, 'What the fuck, Kelly?!' Next moment, she sees Kelly drop to the floor next to her, clutching her nose. There's hurried footsteps, then she's hauled to her feet, Brittany's strong arms keeping her upright when she nearly topples over again. The pain is still strong, the burning throb only getting worse as she gasps for breath.

'I can't believe you just hit meas well_!_' Kelly yells back in disbelief, her voice muffled from her hand over her nose. Her eyes are filled with tears and she suddenly looks very, very small, like the sixteen year old she is.

'Y-you deserved it, for hitting Quinn.' Santana's shaking, clenching and unclenching her fist. Her face is tight in a grimace of pain. Quinn feels Brittany jerk next to her, as though she's about to leave her side to go to Santana, but then is interrupted by the door banging open.

'_What_ is going on here?'

Kelly's head snaps to the door, looking panicked.

'Coach! W e were – we were just –' She flounders helplessly. But with Quinn still clutching her stomach and Kelly's nose bleeding through her fingers, it's blatantly obvious what has just transpired.

'Get the heck out of this locker room or you're off the Cheerios. All of you!' she barks. 'You stay,' Sue says to Santana and Brittany. 'Kelly, get yourself cleaned up, then go wait in my office.'

There are no quick-witted insults from Sue this time and for some reason it's even more ominous. Kelly staggers to her feet and throws a hateful, yet tearful glance at Quinn on the floor before following the other girls out. Sue's rubber soles squeak on the floors of the locker room. She bends down, frowns at the blonde bent over in half, breath only now starting to return to normal.

'Explain,' she says sternly. Both Santana and Brittany both leap to help, but she cuts them off with a raised hand. 'Not you. _You_.' She points at Quinn.

Quinn bites her lip. Breathlessly, she makes an attempt to stand upright, despite the pain in her gut. 'Kelly said something about Rachel. So I hit her, but not hard, then she punched me in the stomach. Santana was just defending me.'

Sue grunts noncommittally. 'I see. Who's Rachel?'

'My – my… friend.' Quinn tries not to catch Santana and Brittany's eyes.

'Ah. The one who wears all the argyle and shrieks all day in Ryerson's sham of a glee club?'

Quinn scowls, but doesn't comment. 'Yes.'

Sue nods, then folds her arms. 'Well, then, you'd better get yourself to the nurse's office, Q, before we find out you've damaged your internal organs and someone blames me,' Sue says, her voice still hard but uncharacteristically caring. 'Lopez... Brittany. Take her.'

'But Coach,' Quinn finds herself protesting, 'aren't we in trouble or something?'

'I'll thank you not to tell me how to be a teacher,' Sue says sharply. '_I _will deal with it. Now, go.' Brittany helps her to walk along and Santana takes Quinn from the other side, wrapping an arm around her waist to manoeuvre her through the door.

'I can walk, guys,' Quinn says, secretly glad for their help.

'We know. Santana just wanted to hug you,' says Brittany.

'No I didn't,' Santana says immediately. But she squeezes Quinn's shoulder s a little anyway, taps her temple against Quinn's affectionately. 'But, I did just want to mention I never said anything about you and Berry to Kelly. You know I wouldn't do that, Q.' She pauses. 'And if you wanna be friends with her, that's cool with us... Even if I still think all her clothes should be burnt and she was secretly a Munchkin extra in the Wizard of Oz film.'

'Thanks, S,' says Quinn, rolling her eyes slightly. 'I appreciate that. And thanks for coming to my defence.' Quinn rubs her tender stomach, grimacing. 'But next time, could you punch her before she gets to me?'

* * *

'You're late,' says Rachel accusingly, when Quinn finally hobbles her way outside to meet her. She glances at her watch pointedly. 'The other Cheerios left about fifteen minutes ago – I was about to leave without you.'

Quinn shrugs absently, still feeling a little out of it. 'Sorry, I got held up.'

Rachel regards her with suspicion for a few moments. 'Well, you're here now. I suppose that's what matters.' She wraps her hand tightly around Quinn's arm, tugging her along the road at a quickened pace to make up for lost time.

They're standing particularly close today; their hips are almost colliding and Rachel's pink trolley case sometimes bumps against the back of her feet. Quinn can't bring herself to care. Instead she just follows and nods whenever she thinks she's being asked a question, content to let Rachel's voice fade into a comforting buzz in the back of her mind.

Quinn is brought back from her reverie by a sharp poke in the ribs.

'Huh?'

'I said, are you alright?' Rachel repeats. 'You're very quiet, and you keep touching your stomach with a weird look on your face.'

'Oh. Yeah, I'm fine.'

Rachel makes a noise of disapproval. 'Quinn, I consider myself to be adept at telling when someone is lying. You definitely are, so you may as well skip that part and tell me what's wrong instead.'

She scuffs the toe of her shoe across the ground, kicking a stone sullenly into a small pile of browning leaves as they walk. 'Just a bad day.'

'You seemed fine earlier.'

'It's possible the things that made it bad happened in the last hour,' Quinn growls. She draws the collar of her Letterman jacket higher, protecting herself from the chill wind. Her legs are freezing – while the skirts might be useful for drawing the attention of boys, they really don't help during the colder seasons.

Rachel gently brushes her fingers over the inside of Quinn's arm. She barely feels it. 'Practice, then?' she says softly. 'Were the other Cheerios particularly awful today?'

'You could say that. You could also say that Kelly was being the bitch she usually is, and that I might've hit her. And that Santana did too.'

The other girl stops dead in the road. Quinn breaks out of her grip and keeps on walking. As expected, a few moments later Rachel's tiny footfalls indicate she's running after her. 'Quinn Fabray!' exclaims Rachel, grabbing her arm again and spinning her around. 'You actually hit her? What happened?'

'She... wasn't happy. Obviously,' she says, with a wince and another touch to her stomach.

'She hit you back?' asks Rachel, frowning with concern at Quinn's midsection.

'It was my fault, anyway. I shouldn't have done anything.'

'What made you do it?' Rachel's hand reattaches itself to her bicep. Quinn finds herself feeling grateful, since her arm seemed unnaturally cold without the contact. She sighs, leaning into the brunette at her side. They're of similar height so it's a little uncomfortable to lay her head against Rachel's, but she does it anyway.

'She was asking me to steal some test answers for her. I should've just listened and gone along with it, but honestly – I was just so fed up. I got angry, and then she said something that really got me going. And I hit her.'

'What was it she said?'

Quinn falls quiet at that.

And no matter what Rachel does, how ever much she prods and whines and scolds, she keeps her mouth closed about the matter and her eyes averted to the ground all the way back to the Berry house. She continues even when she's inside and sitting on the couch, and after Rachel insists on getting an ice pack for her to place on her stomach.

After a while, Rachel seems to get that she doesn't want to talk about it. But neither does Quinn want to talk about anything else, and apparently Rachel hates silence: when it's there, she absolutely must fill it. Quinn actually listens this time (if only to keep her mind off her aching muscles), smiling at the way Rachel babbles cutely about any topic she can think of.

'I've always had difficulty hitting that note so I was a little hesitant, but my singing teacher just said "Go for it, Rachel!"'

It's adorable, how passionately Rachel can talk about her singing and acting. Quinn wishes she had something that she got so excited about, but sometimes it feels like her life is just devoid of all such things. Cheerleading? She loves it, but since coming to McKinley, it's just not the same anymore.

Well, maybe there's _one _thing in her life that she still loves. Since that day in the choir room with Rachel she's started playing the piano again, much to her mother's delight. Judy always did love showing her off at parties, clapping and exclaiming 'Isn't she _wonderful!_' as though she were a performing animal. Still, it hasn't dampened her love for it. A faint smile comes to her lips as she remembers Rachel playing 'Twinkle Twinkle Little Star' for her on that first day.

'And although at one point I thought I was going to fall flat, I didn't –'

'She said something about you,' Quinn says suddenly. At Rachel's confused look, she clarifies, 'Kelly. It was about you and she was saying... stupid things. Insulting stuff. That's why I hit her.'

For short time, Rachel is absolutely speechless.

Privately, Quinn begins to think that she should defend Rachel more often if it gets her to shut up.

All too soon, Rachel regains control of her mouth, although she still looks completely gob smacked. Her cheeks are tinged red. 'W ell,' Rachel says, a tad shakily. She clears her throat. 'I'm surprised you'd do that for me. Not many would choose to defend for my honour like that: I'm very flattered. So. Thank you.'

She shrugs. 'Don't mention it.'

_Really. Don't._

'I wish you hadn't gotten hurt for me, though. And I wish I could repay you somehow. Is there nothing I can do for you?'

Quinn shakes her head, trying not to think of all the things Rachel could "do for her". 'Nothing that I can think of right now. I'm going to get a glass of water.' She stands up but sits back down almost immediately when her stomach throbs again. 'Okay, maybe not...'

Rachel picks the icepack up, shifting it from hand to hand. 'Is it really bad?'

'Feels it.'

She stares at Quinn for a moment before placing the icepack on the table. 'Show me?'

Quinn hesitates, but reaches for the hem of her Cheerios top. She shivers at the feel of her chilled hands on her bare skin but pulls it up above her belly button anyway.

Rachel sucks in a sharp breath, gazing down at the darkening bruise covering Quinn's abs. 'Quinn, that looks nasty.'

'It feels pretty nasty too,' says Quinn drily.

'W e can't let her get away with it. You don't deserve that sort of treatment just because she thinks she's better than you, not at all.' Rachel puts her hand on Quinn's stomach again. Her hand is warm and a lot more soothing than the ice pack there a few minutes ago. She sighs, her fingers flexing slightly on her skin. Quinn tries to remember to breathe. 'Quinn, you're way too skinny to be getting into fights.'

'What?' Quinn laughs incredulously. 'Are you serious? No, I'm not. Look at the other girls on the team – that's skinny. I'm the dumpy, fat freshman that's shorter than the rest of them.'

Rachel rolls her eyes.

'Really,' Quinn insists. 'I'm not even that much taller than you right now.'

'Hey,' says Rachel, affronted. 'I happen to be of average height.'

'Average – for dwarfs.'

'I'm going to ignore that insult because I know you're simply trying to avoid the topic.' Rachel's nails start to absent-mindedly scratch over Quinn's stomach in a way that startlingly nice. 'Quinn, you must know you're very pretty. Gorgeous, even. However, I can feel your stomach under my hand, and I'll tell you right now that there's practically nothing on you.'

'Really?'

'You really shouldn't sound pleased about that,' says Rachel, rolling her eyes. 'Seriously, you need something inside you.'

It's probably the way Rachel is looking at her so intently, her brown eyes questioning and worried. Those eyes always get her to say things she doesn't want to, but apparently her mind is only caught on one part of the sentence. She blurts it out before she can censor her thoughts

- 'Are you propositioning me?'

Both their mouths drop open at the same moment from the outburst. Quinn's cheeks immediately turn scarlet, shooting back to the other side of the couch so Rachel isn't touching her anymore. Rachel doesn't chase her, because her hand is pressed to her mouth to stem the flood of giggles threatening to erupt.

'Quinn Fabray!' says Rachel, her voice shaking with the effort of not laughing. 'Did that honestly just come out of your mouth?'

Quinn groans, snatching up the cushion and smothering her face with it. 'I don't know where that came from!' she says, voice muffled. 'You're such a bad influence. I never said stuff like that until I met you. I don't even know what that _meant_!

She hears Rachel chortle. The couch dips a bit as Rachel crawls forward and presses on the cushion in an attempt to lower it, her lower body flush with Quinn's knees. 'I'm pretty sure the ability was "inside" you already.' The mischievous emphasis on "inside" makes Quinn groan. 'I had nothing to do with it.'

'You had _everything _to do with it.'

'Are you saying I corrupted you?' Rachel manages to wrestle the cushion away and fling it onto the carpet. Her grin is steadily widening, and she's been crawling closer the whole time until now, she's nearly on top of Quinn.

'That's exactly what you've done,' retorts Quinn.

'Like you mind,' Rachel shoots back.

Quinn reaches out to poke Rachel's sides and the girl giggles, squirming away. It turns into an impromptu tickling match, with Rachel trying to grab Quinn's hands and Quinn attacking from every angle.

'Stop!' Rachel pants. Somehow she gets hold of Quinn's hands and holds them by the wrists above her head. The brunette's face is flushed but she's grinning, towering above her; Quinn can feel the soft puffs of Rachel's irregular breath on her cheek, see her fluttering pulse in her throat that slows to its regular beat as they calm down. Or rather, Rachel calms down – Quinn can still feel her heart thumping wildly and inexplicably. She worries that Rachel can feel it too.

With an exuberant laugh, Rachel buries her face in Quinn's neck, giving her an affectionate nuzzle. 'Oh, Quinn,' she says, still chuckling. 'You're a lot of fun, did you know that?'

Quinn swallows, and is far too aware of how Rachel's nose is pressed against that moving part of her throat. 'You sound surprised?'

'I am a little,' Rachel admits. She shifts her weight so the length of her body presses along Quinn's side; it's a little awkward on this narrow couch and the distribution of weight on her chest is bordering on painful, but Rachel seems comfy so she decides not to say anything. 'You can be a little… standoffish, sometimes.'

'And you can be really tactless sometimes,' replies Quinn, a little bit hurt.

'I didn't mean it in a mean way!' Rachel shifts again, moving lower and jamming her leg between Quinn's and the back of the couch. Unfortunately she places her hand on Quinn's stomach and presses down to allow her to move, and the sudden shoot of pain makes Quinn gasp and her body jerk. 'Oh my God, I'msosorry! I forgot!'

'It's okay,' says Quinn through gritted teeth. 'Can you get off me though?'

'Of course, of course.' Rachel swings her leg over Quinn's body to the floor and hops away, careful not to touch her. Grimacing, Quinn sits up and rests her back on the armrest. Rachel watches her, wringing her hands in distress. 'I'm really sorry, Quinn.'

'Never mind, I forgot as well,' she lies.

'Even so.' Rachel's pouting now as she sits back down, careful to leave distance between them now.

Quinn nudges her thigh with her toe. 'Stop pouting.'

'Never.' Rachel huffs and crosses her arms, leaning back on the couch. 'Can't believe I did that.' She seems genuinely upset to have hurt her. Quinn frowns, unsure what to do; she pokes Rachel with her toe again, and then after a moment, digs it into Rachel's side, just where she now knows she is most ticklish. 'Hey!' Rachel yelps.

'Well, stop punishing yourself then. C'mon, you're not being a very good host when you're sitting there sulking.'

Rachel perks up a little at this. 'True. Did you want something to eat? We have lots of snacks.' Quinn barely resists making a face – she's sampled the Berry "snacks" and they contain far too much granola for her, and various kinds of berries. She supposes Rachel and her fathers think they're being funny. Instead she politely declines.

'We're having some big family dinner tonight, anyway. Wouldn't want to ruin my appetite for the meal my mom slaved over all day.'

'A family dinner?' Rachel settles herself more comfortably into the couch, picking up Quinn's feet and putting them in her lap. She almost purrs when Rachel runs her nails over the underside, through her sock. 'That sounds nice.'

'I'm sure the family dinners at the Berry house are lovely, social affairs, but at the Fabray house it's mainly just a chance for my dad to gloat about whatever ass-kissing he's done at work and whoever he's fired that day. I didn't say stop,' she says, poking Rachel again with her foot.

'You know, most people wouldn't put up with you abusing them with your feet.' As Rachel continues her ministrations, Quinn lets her head fall back onto the armchair, saying, 'Yeah, but you _love_ me.'

'Mmhm…'

'You do.'

'Whatever you say, Quinnie.'

'Hey,' says Quinn warningly. 'Do not call me that. That's what my family call me, and I hate it.'

'Then whatever shall I call you, Quinnie?'

'How about just "Quinn?"'

'Fine, "just Quinn". Or perhaps,' says Rachel, suddenly grinning, 'I should call you "Charlie".'

Quinn groans at this unwanted reminder of their first embarrassing encounter, wishing she could reach the cushion to smother her face in. 'Don't. I'll stick with "just Quinn" if that's the alternative.'

'But you were so cute that day!' Rachel coos, either unaware of Quinn's mortification or wanting to rub it in a bit more. 'In fact, if I wanted to pick a word, I might say "bashful" or "shy".'

Quinn retracts her feet, now sitting up on her knees. 'You're on thin ice, Berry.'

'Oh, _Berry_,' Rachel teases. 'I'm so scared.'

'You better be.'

They smirk at each other for a few moments, before Rachel suddenly lunges for her. Disturbed, Quinn dodges out of the way until she realizes Rachel is just trying to hug her. Slowly, she relaxes, although not without some trepidation.

Rachel wraps her arms tight around Quinn, careful to dodge her injury. 'You're so _lovely_, Quinn,' says Rachel, and the tone of absolutely giddy adoration in her voice and the graze of Rachel's lips on her jaw make her cheeks flush wildly.

'Thanks,' she mumbles, smiling shyly.

* * *

Later that evening, Quinn has her "family dinner" with her father and mother. Russel sits at the head of the table, directly across from Quinn, still pours her water for her, still barks at her if he feels she hasn't eaten enough or dished up enough potatoes. Her mother, the opposite side, makes sly comments about the amount she's eating

Her father asks about school and Cheerios and scoffs about the fact she's not tried hard enough to become head cheerleader like her sister yet. Scoffs about the fact she's still friends with those "odd" girls, Santana and Brittany.

He has no idea she's friends with Rachel. And nor will he ever. It's as though when she's with Rachel she's in a little bubble where nothing can hurt her, she can forget she comes home to _this_. To mix the two worlds would mean she had nowhere to escape from.

Her mother casually remarks, when she's halfway through her plate of food, that Quinn seems to have gained a little weight.

Neither of her parents have noticed, or, if they have, asked, about her injury.

Judy Fabray pours a little more wine and sips it while Quinn pushes her plate back, excusing herself to her room because she suddenly "feels rather nauseous".

She manages to lie there for ten minutes, thinking of Rachel, thinking of her mother, hating her parents, before she slowly gets up and goes to the bathroom.

Even later that night, with her throat burning and the smell not quite gone from her clothes and hair, she tosses and turns before eventually falling into her first dream about Rachel.

It's not the last. Within a month, they'll be a regular feature of her night. She'll come to hate them, but secretly, love them.

Not long afterwards, she wakes up and throws up for the second time that evening from the sick realization of what is going on. She can still feel the shame, the want and the need for Rachel coating her thighs.

She lays her head on the cool edge of the toilet and cries – for some reason, wishing her sister was there more than ever.

**December 2009**

Rachel's freshman year passes in a blur of Slushie facials, namecalling and general abuse. Most of them probably don't even remember the original reason she became a target, particularly the stuttering and apologetic freshman sometimes forced to do it as some sort of twisted hazing ritual. By now she's just Rachel Berry, that girl who gets doused in corn syrup and ice every morning and sometimes in the afternoon as well.

Quinn never administers the Slushies herself. That's for someone else to do, but the messengers never fail to remind her who they're from. It hurt the first few times, but now she's learned to just get herself to the bathroom, change her clothes and get on with her day. It's what comes after that really gets to her.

There's the looks (hateful glances in the corridors, in classes, outside classes).

The nicknames (masculinising terms, dulling every compliment she's ever paid to her. "Man Hands". "Treasure Trail". "RuPaul").

And the MySpace comments – although they're left via a Cheerios account and knows they're not all Quinn (judging by the atrocious spelling), it still bothers her not knowing which ones came from her. Even Santana and Brittany, who previously treated her with indifference or simple dislike, seem to be enjoying joining in and throwing insults at her whenever they can.

It goes on like this until sophomore year, when Sandy Ryerson is fired from the position as the glee club director and Mr Schuester takes over. Glee club gains its required 12 members and suddenly... she's part of a family. A dysfunctional, backstabbing, incestuous family. But she's part of it nonetheless, and so is Quinn. Within the glee club, the next few months fly by even quicker, but with a vital difference. Although the Slushies haven't disappeared completely, she's no longer getting abused left right and centre from the _entire_ student body.

The reason? They have a new target: Quinn. And with all the lies surrounding her situation it's only a matter of time before she completely falls to the bottom.

Rachel had thought, despite everything, she would enjoy seeing Quinn fall. She's only human after all, and Quinn made it her goal to ensure Rachel's life was consistently a misery. She always prides herself on always (within reason) taking the higher ground but Rachel has her limits.

Watching Quinn break down should feel good – Rachel ought to be enjoying finally getting revenge, however small, on Quinn Fabray. It should be satisfying to see her hurt after everything she's done to Rachel so far, the number of times she's made her cry herself.

She _should _be feeling bad for Finn because of the way his own girlfriend and best friend lied to him outright, and maybe even a little pleased since now she can begin to work on becoming his girlfriend. He's nice to her. She likes that.

As time goes on, however, Rachel begins to think whatever part of her brain that ought to be enjoying revenge on Quinn ifaulty. Because although she knows inwardly, everything this moment should be to her... when she sees Quinn's face crumple with tears and the utter fury unleashed by Finn in reaction, it doesn't feel anything but completely wrong.

She doesn't go after Finn; almost immediately after Quinn leaves the room, her feet start carrying her after her.

Mercedes grabs her arm as she passes, spinning her around.

'Woah! Where d'you think you're going?'

'I have to go after her.'

Rachel receives a look as though she's crazy. 'Hello, Earth to Berry?' exclaims Mercedes. 'Rachel, this is all your fault in the first place!'

She wrenches her arm away. 'I know. And I need to apologise to her for everything.'

With that, she stalks away. Dramatic, maybe, but that's what Rachel's known for. 70% of her exits from a room since the age of six have been storm outs or accompanied by a one-liner that would be fitting for a 9 o'clock drama.

Rachel locates Quinn quickly on a bench a few corridors away, hidden away in a small alcove. Her eyes are glazed over as she stares into space, a hand protectively over her stomach and the other cradled in the material of her skirt. She barely reacts when Rachel makes her way closer.

'I'm so sorry.' Rachel's voice is trembling slightly, especially when Quinn raises her gaze to hers. Her eyes are red - rimmed and puffy, and distract Rachel briefly before she continues in a rush, now starting to believe it was probably a bad idea to come out here. 'I fully understand if you want to beat me up. If you can, just try and avoid my nose.'

Rachel squeezes her eyes shut tight, inhaling sharply in preparation for the incoming blow.

It never comes. Instead she hears Quinn whisper, 'I'm not mad at you.'

Her eyes snap open and take in the blonde who has looked away again. 'All you did was something I wasn't brave enough to do... tell the truth.' Her voice, slightly nasal and thick from crying, lacks all the viciousness that is all Rachel has heard from the girl for the last year or so. In that moment she can see Quinn the way she was before being promoted to head cheerleader. It's been a long time since she's caught even a glimpse of that girl.

'I ...' She shuts her mouth and descends into the spot next to her. Quinn is looking ahead and avoiding eye contact once more. 'I was selfish when I told him.' Rachel knows that saying what she's about to say might only make things worse, but she needs Quinn to know the whole story. The other girl barely reacts. 'I wanted to break you two up so he would want to be with me.'

'And now, neither of us have him.' Rachel tries to subtly move her head to meet the other girl's eyes, but she stares straight ahead. 'I have hurt... so many people,' Quinn breathes, shaking her head slightly.

_Including you,_ are the unspoken next words.

Rachel sees the struggle Quinn is facing on whether to open up displayed on her face; the slight crease between her eyebrows, the downward tilt of her lips. Quinn's shutting down again, and shutting her out as a result.

Right on cue, Quinn's head snaps around abruptly. 'Can you - go now?' Her voice cracks and fades into a whisper. 'I just really wanna be alone.'

She blinks slowly, heavy eyelashes fluttering against her pale cheek in such a morose way that Rachel's heart aches a little. A single tear trickles down.

Rachel nods. She wishes she could reach out and hug Quinn, but instead she reaches out - and after a moment of hesitance, pats Quinn on the shoulder. She lingers only a moment before she slides off the bench and walks away, leaving the girl on her own.

**A/N: Quinn and Rachel's awkward teenage crushes are the best things to write.**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Wow, so it turns out I'm a bit stupid and this 'chapter' was actually part of the last one. I was confused, wondering why there was so much left if there were only meant to be five chapters, and also why Chapter Four was so short. Sigh. Anyway, I didn't want to edit this part in so it's going to be a short chapter. Next one is the last. It won't be a happy ending. But hey, that's the point of this non-linear timeline, right? It's not really the end.**

**Also, continued warning for discussion about eating disorders, etc.**

**October 2008**

The rumour reaches Quinn one lunch time, an entire 24 hours after everyone else.

Kelly is nowhere to be seen on this particular day. Apparently no one has spoken to her properly since the incident in the locker room several days ago, although Quinn has received her fair share of glares in the corridors. She has little reason to wonder, since Kelly had been kicked off the team, to be replaced by some slightly less temperamental and less talented girl. Quinn expected to be treated like a pariah for making the team lose its captain, but if anything both she and Santana had gained a kind of grudging acceptance for having the nerve to actually hit Kelly. It's a common desire among the Cheerios, it seems.

Currently, the other cheerleaders are crammed onto one table. Distributing the space onto more than one table is not even considered for some reason, thus those higher up in the pyramid actually have seats at the table while the others crowd around eagerly with their trays on their laps and legs jammed into the space between chairs so they can feel included. It's almost disturbing how deeply their artificial social hierarchy seeps into everything.

As for Quinn, while she does have a place at the table, it's at the bottom end. Not that she cares much. She'd much rather be anywhere else than this cafeteria, staring morosely at the food other people are shoving into their mouths all around the room.

She's hungry. Scratch that, actually, it feels as though her stomach is almost turning in on itself from the said hunger. Every whiff of food that her nose catches makes it growl even more. But Sylvester is cracking down hard on keeping the girls to their weight targets. As such, these meetings in the cafeteria are less about eating than a silent competition over who will break first, passive-aggressive attempts to make the others falter with the wafting smells of – mediocre, but still _food_ in their direction.

Luckily, Quinn has a system: if she squints she can pretend the food in front of her is completely disgusting. Picturing mould covering the soft white bread and eating away at the cheese inside. Closing her eyes and imagining her salad floating in a pool of muddy, brown water instead of dressing. It seems to work. Just barely. At any rate, she feels nauseous.

Quinn drifts in and out of the conversations of the surrounding girls, catching fragments but mainly tuning the whole thing out so she can concentrate on keeping up her food imagery. She wishes she didn't have to come in here and sit with them, instead wanting to find Rachel and disappear into the choir room together like they usually do.

For the past few days – well, since _that _night - however, she's made it her goal to ignore Rachel. Ignoring her texts and notes, spinning on her heel and charging the other way up the corridor if they ever encounter each other and trying not to be bothered by Rachel's wounded expression when she does these things. It hurts, far more than she ever expected it would to start cutting the girl out of her life. If anything that just shows her they've already become dangerously close.

Is it any wonder she started to dream about Rachel every night?

A shiver runs down her spine involuntarily at the thought of them, still remembering light fingertips skimming her cheeks; kisses, the brush of lips against hers. Of the four she's had already, none have really been _that _sexual. But God, her body certainly reacts like they are.

'… Quinn?'

Hearing her name catches her attention and she looks up - wishing she hadn't, because someone is eating a bacon sandwich on the other side of the room.

'What is it?' Quinn asks Santana, forcing herself to keep her eyes away from the food.

Santana shrugs. 'Usual gossip shit. Only apparently someone's got a crush on you.' She smirks. 'If this were me, it wouldn't be newsworthy, seeing as everyone has a crush on me.'

Quinn rolls her eyes. Santana's started saying stuff like that a lot more recently. 'At least it's not like, a pregnancy rumour or something like that.' Grabbing her drink, she takes a sip.

'Who is it?'

'Charlotte's not telling.'

The others are making scathing guesses at who it might be, picking people from the bottom of the social heap.

'Artie Abrams.'

'Nope.'

'Josh Sussman.'

'Nuh uh.'

'Chris Colfer.'

'Definitely not! I'm pretty sure he's gay.' Charlotte rolls her eyes. 'You guys are really bad at this guessing game. Let me give you a hint... it's not a guy.'

The others chorus at the same moment, 'Berry!'

The next moment, Charlotte receives a juice facial, straight from Quinn's mouth.

'What?' Quinn splutters, trying to wipe her mouth and apologise to the disgusted cheerleader in front of her at the same moment. 'Rachel Berry? _My _Rachel?'

'Your Rachel?' snickers Lauren, one of the girls who originally caused Quinn to push Rachel in the locker room all those months ago. Quinn turns pink. She hadn't even realised she'd referred to her in that way. 'I didn't know you and the freak were so close.'

As ever, Quinn's hackles rise immediately and she sits up, aiming a fierce look at Lauren. 'Don't call her a freak,' Quinn snaps back at her before she realises what she's saying. Glancing to her left side reveals Santana looking a little taken aback at the harshness in Quinn's tone. 'Anyway, I'm pretty sure she doesn't have a crush on me.'

Charlotte holds a finger up to her temple and makes a face, indicating Quinn is stupid. 'Uh, Fabray, even my boyfriend could probably see it if I asked.' Charlotte's boyfriend, Finn Hudson, isn't exactly known for his observational skills. 'Anyone can see her mooning over you from across the room. She's doing it right now, even.' Charlotte points over Quinn's shoulder with her straw - her teammates swivel around to look. Quinn sees Rachel - sitting alone - turn scarlet at being caught and buries her attention in her lunch instead.

'See?' says Charlotte, laughing. 'She's so weird.'

'No, she isn't,' Quinn says, but only faintly. No one hears her. She feels Brittany's fingers close around her wrist beneath the table comfortingly.

'And it looks like Berry isn't the only lesbian,' chirps Lauren. They seem to have forgotten Quinn is there at all. 'We all saw Quinn and Rachel in the locker rooms, and they're always passing notes and sitting in the choir room together. Sometimes they even walk home together, Kylie saw Quinn going into Rachel's house.'

Quinn blanches.

'Well, _I_ think Kylie saw wrong,' Santana cuts in sharply. 'Maybe I should correct her vision with my fist?' Lauren's twin, Kylie is not fazed, snarling at Santana. It descends into a spirited bout of bickering.

The others chortle at their antics, but break off immediately when Quinn jumps to her feet - but thanks to her trembling legs, she almost loses her balance. Luckily Santana catches her around the waist, hauling her up before she knocks herself out on the table or something. Her teammates have fallen silent; the noise level of the cafeteria dips slightly as well as people glance over curiously.

'Quinn?' asks Brittany quietly. She hasn't let go of Quinn's wrist. She squeezes gently. 'You okay?'

'No.' Quinn snatches her arm away, backing away from the table. Her gaze flits to the brunette sitting all alone. Rachel's eyes are back on her, a worried furrow above her brow that Quinn can see even from her position. 'I need to… I need to go.'

As she bolts from the cafeteria, she can feel Rachel watching her every step.

* * *

Quinn bows her head a little further down, balancing it in her hands. She's been sitting here for god knows how long; her stomach growls in protest about the food she's missing, as does her spine for the position she's in, but that's the least of her problems right now.

Her phone buzzes on the bench next to her. It can only be one person. She reaches for it without thinking.

_Are you alright? – R_

_Yes. But I'm not in the mood to text. – Q_

_Then tell me where you are and we can talk it out face to face. - R_

_No, I don't want to talk about it. There's nothing to talk about. I'm just having a bad_

_day. Again - Q_

_I'm not stupid. Something's going on. You'venot spoken to me for days. - R_

_I've just been busy - Q_

_If I've hurt your feelings I'm very sorry. It was entirely unintentional, whatever I did. - R_

_It wasn't you - Q_

_I don't like to see you so miserable. Please tell me what's going on. – R_

_You really wanna know? - Q_

_Of course. - R_

_Okay. First off, my dad keeps blowing up at me for the smallest thing and my mom is drinking herself into a stupor pretty much every day. I constantly feel like a failure because I can't keep this diet going and I feel so tempted to just stuff myself full of food. How am I going to get anywhere if I can't even control my eating habits?_

_And then, on top of that, I hear you have a crush on me. And that everyone knows. And that everyone thinks we are or are going to be an item._

_And sometimes I think they're right, and sometimes I think you and I are getting too close because I think about you all the time I even got beaten up so someone wouldn't go after you, and I have dreams about you and I like them. I HATE this. I hate these feelings. I hate crushes. I can't be feeling this way about you. I just can't._

_I don't know what to do. - Q_

After a second, Quinn deletes the entire text.

_Quinn? - R_

Sick of the constant vibrating of her phone, Quinn simply turns it off and sets it on the bench next to her before bringing her knees up to her chest and burying her face in them.

**November 2008**

'You know, for some... payment, I can open up more than lockers for you,' says Jacob, raking his eyes up and down Rachel's body with a leer, finally setting on her breasts. He's not very experienced at the look and merely ends up looking like he's squinting at her.

Rachel holds back a grimace, mentally counting to ten in her head.

'I'd much rather you just open it for me, as per the terms we agreed.'

Jacob shrugs and pushes his glasses back up his nose before turning to the locker. The boy performs a complicated manoeuvre with his fists and the locker immediately pops open.

Shoving him to the side – and immediately wiping her hand on her sweater afterwards, none too discreetly – Rachel reaches in her trolley case to retrieve a plastic bag. Just as she bends to place the bag inside Quinn's locker, a whiff of perfume reaches her nostrils and the familiar scent catches her off guard. It takes a few moments of holding her breath to get herself under control and concentrate on what she's meant to be doing. She can't get distracted with nostalgia if it means Quinn will come by and discover what she's up to.

Carefully, she puts the bag inside her locker and closes it, shutting away the smell. Rachel straightens up. When she turns around Rachel nearly bumps into Jacob, who is hovering far too close for her liking.

'Thank you,' says Rachel awkwardly, averting her gaze to the floor to hide herself from his

hungry stare.

_Don'tlook at him in the eyes, you'll encourage him..._

'You're very welcome,' he says, his grin disturbingly wide.

'In return, I'll not ask how it is you know how to work the lockers like this...'

Jacob leers at her again. His skill hasn't improved in the last five minutes, and to add to the display, he lifts his eyebrows in what is clearly a poor imitation of someone waggling their eyebrows. However, he hasn't quite perfected the art of moving them up and down quickly enough and now looks constipated. 'Maybe I can show you how I work.'

'No thank you,' she replies primly, pushing past him and trying to make her way up the corridor

before anyone notices her. Unfortunately, as luck would have it, standing directly behind him is Santana Lopez.

Who does _not _appreciate nearly being knocked over by a small diva in argyle.

'W oah there.' She shoves Rachel back towards Jacob, making her stumble in order to keep

herself upright without touching him. 'What's the rush, Man Hands? W hat're you doing by Q's locker?'

'Nothing,' she stutters, immediately kicking herself for allowing herself to show fear. As an actress she should be better at that kind of thing. Santana senses it immediately and smirks down at her, crossing her arms.

'Trying to get some revenge, are we? I didn't expect something this petty from you.'

Santana reaches out and in one swift movement, seizes Jacob by the collar and tugs him until

he's standing in the front of the locker. He blinks at her, all his creepy bravado gone.

'Open it up,' she demands, folding her arms.

He gets to it immediately, repeating the same movements until it swings open. Santana steps forward, glancing into the locker warily. Once it has been deemed safe, rather than a bomb or whatever Santana was expecting, she snatches the bag out of Jacob's hands. He stands there, gawking at the two of them.

'What is this stuff?' asks Santana, swinging the bag in front of Rachel's face by her finger. 'Why did you put it in her locker?'

She mumbles something.

'Sorry, RuPaul, didn't catch that.'

'I said it's hummus,' she says, louder this time. 'I would've given her something more nutritious but it was all I could find in my refrigerator last night and I didn't have time to get her anything else...'

Santana's eyes are wide with disbelief. 'Hummus?' Santana repeats incredulously. 'Hummus? Why the fuck did you bring her hummus and put it in her locker?'

Rachel cringes. This kind of confrontation was exactly what she wanted to avoid. 'She's not been eating,' Rachel explains meekly, pressing her hand to her face in embarrassment. 'I just – I wanted to... Help,' she finishes, her eyes downcast.

Santana stares at her.

For a second Rachel worries that Santana is simply going to upend the contents of the container over her head in a twisted, but mercifully drier version of a Slushie facial or something. Instead, she laughs and tucks the bag under her arm.

'You're weird, you know that? But you got lucky, since Q doesn't mind hummus. Next time, though, I suggest you get her some fucking bacon or something.'

Rachel nearly sags with relief but straightens when Jacob rushes to try and hold her up again. 'Thank you,' she says, batting at the boy to keep him at bay.

'Yeah, whatever,' says Santana dismissively. 'The only reason I'm letting you walk away instead of yelling at you for touching her stuff is because Quinn needs some food in her. And if she eats it I don't care who it comes from.' Grabbing Jacob, she t hrows him bodily into Rachel. 'Now get out of here and take your rabid puppy with you before he drools all over me.'

Jacob looks a little too pleased to be so close to Rachel. She pushes him away in disgust, quickly ducking under his arm and scuttling away. Once again, she nearly runs into someone – two someones actually - Quinn accompanied by Brittany. Rachel can only feel glad that Santana came before Quinn did.

Although Quinn opens her mouth to say something disdainful to her, Rachel simply squeaks and rushes past before she can get a word out. She feels Quinn's glare on her back until she darts around the corner, pressing herself to the wall, hidden from view.

She counts to ten again before deeming it safe to peek around the side and see what's going on.

Although she can't see the girl's face, since it's no longer in Santana's hands Rachel assumes that Quinn is now holding the hummus. From the pissed off expression Santana has and the tight, anxious lines of Brittany's face, it's not going well.

It goes on like this for a while. Quinn says something dismissive about the hummus, Santana argues with her in an increasingly hostile, Brittany looks worried. Rinse, and repeat. Eventually, Quinn throws her hands up and begins to stomp away, in Rachel's direction. Although

common sense tells her to move, her brain fails her and Rachel remains glued to her pot.

Quinn stomps until she finally reaches the trash can nearby. However, just as she's about to throw away the bag, she raises her head and for a second, her eyes meet Rachel's to her right.

Quinn needs help; she knows that. A container of food isn't going to do much for her in the long run. But no one else seems to really see her how she is right now: the features that have become steadily gaunter over the past few weeks; the shadows beneath her eyes and overly defined cheekbones, how her uniform hangs off her much more these days.

Giving her the food was an impulse decision, but she had to do _something_, and at the distance Quinn is keeping Rachel, there wasn't much else she could think to do.

Quinn's is poised with the bag hanging from her hand, ready to throw the hummus away.

Rachel bites her lip, pleading silently for her not to.

After a moment, Quinn rolls her eyes. Slowly, she retracts her hand, drawing the hummus container back into her arms.

**A/N: Hummus is the food of lesbians.**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Last chapter, children! If it makes you too sad, go read BWIW again :P ... or read the next parts, chronologically. Although I quite like this as a standalone piece, since obviously some things don't match up. D: I hope all this has seemed natural to you guys - I wanted to get across their really stupid, impulsive teenage sides. xD I hope it shows that they mature a little and are able to work through their issues. It's just a shame I never finished the sequel to BWIW, because all of this angst would've come back to fall on them without the protection of the gay-friendly cruise ship. I know full well they rush things, it was intentional but never explained without a sequel ;_;**

**/excuses okay just go read **

**October 2008**

'Qunnie!' chirps Allison when she picks up the phone, cheerful as usual. Quinn winces at the nickname her sister uses; many members of her family seem to favour it, as if knowing it irritates her and conspiring to use it even more. Briefly, she pictures her mother, father and sister crowded around the dinner table poring over detailed plans and notes on how to wind her up. She shakes the image away quickly, focusing instead of what Allie is saying. Quinn has definitely been spending too much time with Rachel. 'You haven't called me in so long, sweetie.'

'I was going to email you the other day but I decided I should probably call instead.'

'Well, you're here now. I've missed you, little sis.' Quinn smiles at the term, rolling over on to her side. Just hearing her sister's voice and sinking into their usual familiarity makes her feel a little better about things. 'How've you been? How's school?'

'It's going okay. Santana, Brittany and I made onto the Cheerios.'

Allie squeals in excitement. 'That's brilliant news, Quinnie! I'm so proud of you. How's old

Sylvester anyway? Broken anything during practice yet?'

'No, thankfully.' Allie chuckles at Quinn's sigh of relief. 'I tried out on the second day of the semester. But Coach Sylvester isn't even the worst part of it. Allie, I know you said the girls were bitchy and backstabbing, but I never realized exactly how much.'

'Ah,' says Allie knowingly, 'yeah. I'd forgotten: Cheerios are a special breed of bitch, especially to freshmen. Have they been picking on you?'

Quinn thinks of the discoloured patch of skin crossing her stomach where Kelly punched her the other day. She absently lifts her shirt to touch it – it doesn't hurt much anymore, but it still looks pretty ugly. 'It's not been too bad,' lies Quinn cautiously. Her sister has always been able to tell when she wasn't telling the truth. Sure enough, Allie makes a noise of disapproval.

'I might be miles away, Quinnie, but I still know when you're trying to cover things up. Do I need

to come back to Lima and threaten someone?'

'You couldn't be threatening if you were wearing a hockey mask and carrying a meat cleaver, Allie.'

'I could too,' she protests. 'Stop changing the subject, though. Is everything okay?'

'Yeah... Well, as okay as everything can be. The Cheerios are awful to me but I'm slowly getting used to it. And I'm slowly getting used to the fact that I'll never match up to them, in talent or looks.'

'Oh, sweetie. I've seen you perform– you can run rings around any of those other girls on the squad.

And you're totally pretty. You just need a bit of confidence.'

Quinn grunts in a disgruntled manner. 'Easy for you to say. You were always popular and nothing ever bothered you.'

Allie laughs. 'Oh, Quinnie. Quinnie, Quinnie, Quinnie. You have no idea what high school is really like, do you? But,' she says, 'that's a story for another time. Besides the inevitable nastiness of the other girls and esteem issues, anything else bothering you? Schoolwork? Friends? Boys? If it's the last one, don't tell our father.'

She thinks over these suggestions, nibbling her bottom lip. Quinn nervously plucks at the sheets covering her bed, exhaling slowly. 'Actually... I- I guess there's something I need to talk to you about.'

'I knew it. What is it? You can tell me anything.'

_Can I?_

With a deep sigh, she curls her legs up to her chest, scrunching her fingers into the material of her pillow case. She and her sister used to talk all the time like they were now, impromptu sleepovers where Allie whispered dramatic stories on the horrors of high school to a wide-eyed Quinn. Coach Sylvester was inevitably the tracksuit clad antagonist who enforced torturous exercises on the older Fabray girl who would usually retaliate with suicidal missions into Sylvester's office to put glue on her chair or something equally silly. Having met the coach herself now, Quinn thought her sister had probably been making it all up to amuse her younger sibling – but at the time, it'd seemed the most heroic thing ever.

She's always idolised her sister and feels incredibly proud whenever she receives even the barest hint of praise from her in their infrequent conversations. They speak even less now Allie has gone to college but the affection between the two of them has never once wavered beyond the odd fight.

If she tells Allie what she's been feeling about Rachel lately, will it mess things up? Although she's never spoken about this topic with her sister, her father has never been quiet with his disapproval of same-sex relationships. She doesn't know how Allie will respond, although she suspects it will be far less volatile than if she tried to tell her father.

She just wants someone to talk to about this: to tell her it's okay, that she's going to get through it.

'Quinnie?'

She realises she's been silent for an entire minute, simply breathing deeply in an attempt to calm her nerves.

'Sorry,' she replies quietly.

'Tell me what's up. You're making me worried.'

'Sorry,' Quinn repeats. 'It's just – an odd topic. It's been bothering me so much lately and I don't know who else to talk to.'

'I'm starting to think you're pregnant or something.' Quinn laughs shakily. 'No, I'm not pregnant.'

'Thank God,' says Allie in relief. 'But if you're not, then what's going on?'

Quinn clears her throat. She's barely said a word and yet there's a lump stuck there already, only exacerbating the nausea she feels. 'There's this girl, Allie. We're ... friends. We've gotten really close.'

'Uh huh. What's her name?'

'Rachel, Rachel Berry.'

'Sounds familiar somehow,' Allie muses.

'Yeah, I might have mentioned her once or twice.' That was the last time she called her, just after starting at McKinley. 'Thing is, I've been hearing all these rumours about her...'

'Like what?'

'About her. Having feelings. For – for a girl.'

'I see.' Allie's voice betrays nothing.

'Specifically. Uh. Me.'

'Oh. So she's one of them. I see,' says Allie. Politely enough, but she senses something in the the way she says "them" that causes Quinn's stomach to squeeze in warning. Her heart is thundering, and every instinct tells her to stop now, drop the subject, hang up, run way. Yet the words won't stop pouring out of her mouth.

'Allie... I... I think I...' Every single word trying to burst out of her gets trapped against that lump in her throat and the sensation almost makes her retch. Her breathing is ragged and she nearly gasps the words: 'I- I think I might like her too, Allie!.'

The sensations don't lessen once she's said it. In fact, they only get worse with each passing second of silence and the crackle of empty static at Quinn's ear, until her insides are a twisting, coiling mess. Hot tears brim at her eyes and drip down her cheeks, into the collar of her shirt. She readjusts her sweaty grip on the phone, trying in vain to hear some response from her sister instead of this cold silence.

'Say something,' Quinn pleads, her voice breaking. 'Please, Allie.'

'Oh, _God.'_

The phone clicks off.

Quinn is left with both the blare of the disconnect tone in her ear and those two final words, laden with disgust, with _fear_, replaying in her head. Quinn lets out a cry of anguish, immediately tearing the phone away to try and call her back. She has to restart several times because her hands are shaking so badly.

The next hour is a frantic mess pacing the floor, of trying to connect the call, but to no avail. Each time no one answers; nor does Allie respond to texts. She's sure a line has been burned into her carpet due to the amount of walking up and down.

Some time later, one text arrives, after many desperate pleas for Quinn to be given a chance to explain; for Allie to forgive her; to not block her out, because she can't deal with losing her sister like this.

Quinn immediately opens the text and feels her heart shatter a tiny bit more at the contents.

_Stop texting and calling. I don't want to speak to you._

Quinn texts back – _Why? Why can't we talk about this? Why can't you help me, Allie? You've always been there for me, why can't you be that way now? What's so wrong with it? I might like a girl. Okay. I do like a girl, I admit it. Is that so bad?_

Almost immediately:

_Yes._

Nothing gets replied to after that, even texts begging Allie to talk to her, that she takes it all back. Despite her best efforts, Quinn gets nothing and only gives up when she discovers Allie has switched off her phone when she calls again.

She leans against the wall, tilting her forehead against it and shutting her eyes tight. Although angry tears are leaking out from beneath her eyelids, she doesn't know whether it's her frustration with Allie for deserting her when she needs her most, or with Rachel for running into her that day. If they'd never met, there would be no problem. She could live her life without these feelings. She wouldn't have those dreams. She wouldn't be losing her sister.

Quinn grips her hair, tugging at the roots painfully. She doesn't even realise she's been groaning softly to herself with her head in her hands, pounding her head back on the wall behind her until the door bangs open, colliding with the wall.

She peeks up at her father through her fingers, eyes red rimmed and puffy, cheeks wet.

For a moment they're both just stare at each other. Her father's brow knits; she expects him to begin yelling about the noise.

'What's the matter?' is what he actually says.

It takes her by surprise. He notices and scowls.

'Nothing.' Her words are scratchy and hoarse. It's a terrible lie. Slowly, she sinks to the bottom of the wall, wrapping her arms around her knees.

The floorboards creak and he ventures closer, brow furrowed even more. She's never realised until now how ominous his presence is and she can't help the way her heart picks up speed and starts slamming against her rib cage.

'Don't lie to me,' he says quietly. The room seems to pick up the rumbling of his voice and echo it, surrounding her.

He continues to gaze at his scared daughter, as though seeing her for the first time in his life. Can he see the change? Does he know what his daughter is? Is the word "lesbian" branded across her already, never to change?

Allie has already cut her off. There's no hope for him.

Her father raises his hand and Quinn immediately flinches back and shuts her eyes, gathering her body up to protect herself.

But a blow never comes. Instead he crouches down, reaches out and touches her cheek. His worried gaze fixes on her terrified face.

'You can tell your old dad anything,' he whispers.

She gapes at him, and can tell how hurt he is by her shock. But Quinn doesn't remember the last time he's looked at her like he is now – so tenderly and with such concern. She always thought Allie would be the one who would stick with her no matter what. Now her father is trying to comfort her instead, and it's… nice. Nice to feel cared for.

Inside, though, Quinn knows that if she told him what was happening he would almost certainly react in exactly the same way as her sister. Maybe even worse.

The tears start building up again, but this time Quinn lets him fold her up into his arms and press her head into his chest comfortingly. She clings back, trembling with the knowledge that she would almost certainly never be held like this again if he knew.

Allie was right. She has to end this.

* * *

Sue Sylvester barely reacts as her office door is swung open so hard it rebounds off the opposite wall and an irate Quinn stomps in.

'Close my door properly,' she says abruptly, placing the dumbbell she was using to work out with on her desk. 'If you've chipped my paint I'll have to seek out Schuester and use his hair as a paintbrush in order to redecorate.'

It takes some effort to ignore the direction, having become conditioned to following every instruction from Sue. Instead she forces her unsteady legs up to the coach's desk and leaning over it with her hands palm down for balance, trying for a determined expression. Her hair falls into her eyes – she didn't tie it back today in an act of defiance – and she brushes it behind her ears determinedly.

'Is there something I can help you with?' says Sue, raising an ey ebrow coolly. 'Don't be afraid to tell me whatever is on your mind, Fabray. I don't intend on helping you at all, but I hear speaking problems aloud while getting no solutions is helpful for stressed teens. Although, that's why we have Pillsbury.'

She knows better than to get caught up in Sue's insulting rambles. 'I want,' Quinn says slowly, enunciating every word, 'to be head of the Cheerios. And you are going to promote me to that position.'

'Hm.' Sue's eyebrow raises even higher. 'W ell now. Who put a backbone in your breakfast cereal this morning?'

Quinn straightens her shoulders, making sure to meet the coach's eyes steadily. Sylvester is like a wild animal; if she senses fear or the slightest bit of weakness then she will attack mercilessly. Allie's words from the night before echo in Quinn's head and allow her to speak past the lump in her throat. She has to get her sister back, and this is the first step.

'I'm confident because I know you need me and my skills. Look at our team – look at me. Don't you remember at the beginning of the year? I was the only one you couldn't _really_ criticise. All you had to say was "mediocre".'

She scoffs. 'Maybe you need to spend more time with a dictionary rather than the Cheerios.

Otherwise you would know that the word mediocre is not a compliment by any means.'

'From you, it is.'

Sue grunts a little. From the playing of a smirk around her thin lips, Quinn can tell she's just being humoured. Hating that she's still being patronised and not taken seriously, she narrows her eyes. 'Well?' she says impatiently, folding her arms. 'Are you going to make me the head or not? Otherwise I-' She points to herself, 'am out of the Cheerios.'

'And what makes you think that matters to me?'

'You tell me.'

A few tense moments pass, until Sue swivels on her chair to face Quinn properly and steeples her fingers atop the desk. She looks like a slightly more female version of Mr Burns.

'Well Quinn,' she drawls. It's the first time she's referred to Quinn by her first name. 'Even if the two of you didn't share your disgustingly shiny blonde hair and "angelic" expressions, I would definitely recognise you as being related to one Allison Fabray.' She arches an eyebrow at the surprised girl. 'You know, I consider myself a brilliant judge of character – I can see right into a person's soul. That's what made me the best psychiatrist for Lord Byron.' Quinn blinks. 'But you weren't even alive during his time…'

'Don't contradict me,' Sue snaps at her. 'I meant that I can see what you and Allison were doing. Both you and your sister like to put on this deeply amusing front of being all powerful and confident, but behind that you are both scared little girls clinging to daddy's pant leg.' Quinn is silent; Sue leans back in her chair, crossing one smoothly over the other. 'You remind me of a young me, except my front of being powerful and confident is not a front at all. In any case, I've been waiting for you to step up and take charge.'

Quinn stands upright, sure she's somehow hearing wrong. 'I don't understand.'

Sue holds up a hand. 'In time, Q, you _will_ be the head. You will direct the rest of those talentless girls and in return hand me numerous trophies and ensure the Cheerios remain the well funded powerhouse that it is. You will be the most popular girl around and everyone will want to kill you and pander to your every need at the same time. There will be enormous pressure – from me – for you to lose those extra few pounds you're carrying there.' Quinn glances down self consciously at her stomach, covering it with her hand, the comment cutting straight through her, as Sue wants. 'However, if I might give you some advice…

'At the side of every great man is a woman using his reputation to boost her own and sneakily plotting his downfall in order to get away with his money. Such good memories.' Lost in memories, Sue gazes into the distance wistfully. Then she focuses her shrewd gaze on Quinn again. 'I'd advise you to do the same, or rather, the high school equivalent in order to fully utilise your position.'

'You mean you want me to get a boyfriend?'

'Boyfriend, girlfriend, a particularly famous cat on Youtube... I don't care. You're no fool, Q, you know perfectly well the Cheerios thrive on image. I need them to be unattainable, but desirable to the average teen of whatever gender in order to crush the competition satisfactorily. Being in a relationship with someone would likely help with this.' Sue ponders this, tapping a finger on her lips. 'Although you might have to get rid of the girl you are always with who looks like she killed a golfer and stole their clothes. She's poisonous to your image.'

Quinn nods stiffly, trying ignore the sick churning in her stomach.

'I'm working on it already.'

**October 2008**

Rachel makes an attempt to shut the front door behind her quietly. However, instead it decides to slam into the frame heavily, making the crash resound through the entire house; she winces, but no one appears in reaction to the sound.

'I'm home,' she says cautiously. No response. Rachel sighs in relief.

She slips upstairs and into her room (denoted by the large gold star on the door), pulling off stained clothes as she goes. There's nothing she can do about what she was wearing today – her white blouse is dyed crimson about her shoulders and neck and no amount of washing will ever return it to its original colour.

Her clothes end up in an untidy pile in the middle of the floor. Most unlike her. Normally she would've at least folded them first, but right now she doesn't have the energy to do anything other than hovering aimlessly in the middle of her room in her underwear. A breeze from the open window flutters the curtains and sends a chill over her, raising the gooseflesh along her arms.

Rachel just keeps staring at the red patch on her clothing, feeling tears prick at her eyes.

It's the bang of the front door again that finally wakes her from her stupor and she realises she should probably get dressed. She can hear the murmurings of one of her dads through the floorboards, so they are clearly both home.

She pulls on the first shirt and skirt she finds in her drawer and is just getting the top over her head when someone knocks. Quickly, Rachel kicks her soiled clothing beneath her bed so he won't see and plonks herself down on top of her covers.

'Come in,' she calls. Thomas opens the door and peeks his head around.

'Guess what your daddy is going to do now,' he says, laughing lightly.

'What?' She tries to sound like she's a little interested.

'He's dying his hair blond! He said all the grey was showing up and he just looked like he had paint flecks in his hair, so he's going to cover it up.' Thomas rolls his eyes, but grins fondly.'

'He's obviously trying to get in touch with his inner rock star. It's all those karaoke nights you guys have been doing,' comments Rachel, attempting a fake smile.

Thomas winks at her and draws his head back through the gap in the door, closing it behind him. The moment he leaves the smile drops away. It always fools her dad completely. He's never been able to see through it yet since she perfected it at the age of eight when Tommy Fisher pushed her over and she cried the entire afternoon but managed to pretend nothing was wrong when she got home. She got him back anyway the next day by covertly spreading a rumour that Tommy had wet himself during class and tried to hide it by stealing someone else's pants to wear. It was true, but she still felt bad about it in retrospect.

Reaching under her bed with her foot, she drags out her shirt by the collar and holds it up, examining it again.

Should she tell her dads? Quite honestly, the entire event is a little blurry in her memory. She remembers bits of the conversation beforehand – the sting of ice and corn syrup hitting her face, the laughs all around her.

Rachel stretches out to her pillow, pulls out her journal and flips it to the first clean page she comes across. She raises her pen to start writing, poises nib against paper, hoping to let loose all the emotions she's been suppressing all day. But the words won't come.

In the end she only ends up with a single sentence:

_'I never thought you'd actually do it.'_ Just as she crosses the last T her door suddenly bangs open and James, her other father, positively hops inside.

She snaps her journal shut. Her jaw drops when she looks up and sees her daddy: his hair flops all over his face in different lengths, one half of it all the way down to his chin and the rest cut short. The entire thing is a grotesque dirty blonde that borders on a green tinge.

'What have you done to your hair?!'

'Do you like it?' he says, making a pose and smirking.

'No!'Her mouth is wide open, and her jaw drops even lower when he grins roguishly at her.

'Daddy!'

'Rachel!' He mocks. James struts and shimmies around her room, twisting his body into shapes a forty-eight-year-old father should never be positioning himself in. 'I think it suits me. Do I look like Brad Pitt? Your dad said I did.' He dances over to his daughter, tugging her up by her hands and pulling her into an impromptu tango around her room. Her journal falls to the floor by her feet, but Rachel's a little too busy being spun and dipped now.

'Daddy!' She tries to sound reproachful; instead though, a giggle escapes her as he viciously headbangs to some unknown song in his own head, sending the locks of hair flying. The wig almost falls off but he claps it back onto his head at the last moment, laughing uproariously.

When James takes a step back he nearly trips – Rachel quickly realises that her shirt is still on the floor and he's managed to get tangled up in it. Luckily the bed was right behind him and he falls safely backwards.

James' brow crinkles and he lifts his foot, balancing the shirt on his toes. 'Rachel, you know better than to leave your clothes on the floor,' he reprimands gently. James makes to grab it off his foot and fold it up, but his frown suddenly deepens. 'What's that...?'

In horror she realises what he's staring at and immediately tries to snatch it off him but she's too

late – James twists his body to keep it out of her reach, gazing in confusion at the dark red stains covering the clothing.

He raises his eyes to hers. 'Rachel, what is this?' he asks shakily, looking a little sick.

'It's just a stain.' She makes another attempt at grabbing it back off him. James leaps off the bed and backs some distance away, shaking out the shirt in order to full see the extent of the damage.

'Is this...' His face is drained of colour and he barely holds back a retch. 'Oh, God! Is this blood, Rachel? What happened?'

'What? No!'

'Are you lying?' he demands. 'Are you hurt? Tell me!'

'It's not blood, daddy! It's a Slushie.'

'Slushie?' he repeats, bewildered. He gazes at the stain for a few moments, and then lifts it to his face to sniff it suspiciously. Apparently satisfied that it is in fact a Slushie stain, he turns to his daughter. The confused look is still on his face. 'How did you manage to get Slushie all around your neck?'

'I just dropped it on myself, that's all.'

'Rachel, don't lie. I know you're a little clumsy, but I doubt that you dropped it all over your shoulders on both sides.'

Rachel sighs, her shoulders sagging. 'Someone...' He isn't going to let her off, she knows, and she can't lie to him the way she does to Thomas. Rachel sighs heavily, throwing her hands up. 'Someone Slushied me today. Rather, they threw it in my face.'

'Why would they do that?'

She shrugs. 'To teach me a lesson? I don't know.'

'A lesson? What lesson?'

'… That I shouldn't fall for girls.'

She says it so flatly Rachel shocks even herself a little. The shirt hits the ground and James stares at her.

'Oh, sweetie,' he says, his voice cracking a little. 'Oh, Rachel...'

Next moment she's wrapped in his arms, leaning against her daddy's chest, holding her forehead against it. She feels James swallow heavily and pull her closer, laying his cheek atop her head.

She feels his tears on the top of her head, soaking into her hair, but doesn't cry herself.

**October 2008**

The majority of the people milling around the corridor completely ignore her as she approaches Rachel. There is no silent parting of the crowds for her like there was for Kelly; news of Quinn's promotion to head Cheerio hasn't become widely known yet. Those who do know spare a wary glance for her and hurry on with their lives, but without much fear. As far as anyone knows, yesterday Quinn was nobody. As far as they know, even if she is a cheerleader she hasn't grasped the blood thirsty need for power that the others possess yet.

As far as they know, she's still weak and friends with Rachel.

Rachel's at her locker, same as every day at lunch time. Quinn knows full well that Rachel always picks up her sheet music before heading to eat alone in the choir room. She's been doing that since Quinn stopped talking to her. She also ensures she has arranges all her books into suitable order to use the minimal amount of time collecting them when she goes home. That's also a new habit.

Quinn shuts her eyes for a moment to strengthen herself. She thinks of Allie.

_Remember why you're doing this._

Even so, when she reaches out to touch Rachel's shoulder, her hand trembles a little.

Rachel spins to face her, wide smile only growing when she sees who it is. Her relief that Quinn is speaking to her again is obvious. 'Quinn!' The brunette makes an attempt to hug her but Quinn quickly steps out of reach so she cuddles the air instead. Rachel looks up, takes in the cold, blank look expression on Quinn's face and her smile slowly fades. 'Is... everything okay?'

'Everything's great... Berry.' Her voice wavers and she has to stop herself using Rachel's first

name.

_Steady your voice, _Quinn reprimands herself, forcing her back into a straight position. _Don't show her you don't want to do this or she'll see right through you._

'What's wrong?' asks Rachel quietly.

'Shut up.' It comes out scratchy and rough and totally feeble.

Quinn clenches her fists so hard the nails dig into the bed of her palm and advances into Rachel's space. Instinctively Rachel shrinks back against the locker behind her; Quinn's extra height, although small at this point, helps a lot to intimidate the other girl. The glimmer of fear in the brunette's eyes turns her stomach, but Quinn forces herself to put up her walls.

'Quinn,' Rachel says quietly. Her bottom lip is caught between her teeth. 'Talk to me. You don't look right.'

'What does that mean?'

_Don'tstall. Just tell her to leave you alone already._

'You don't look like... you.'

Rachel reaches out. Her fingers graze Quinn's hot cheek. She leans into the touch before she even realises what she's doing and by the time she jerks away she's even less prepared to continue. Rachel has seen her wavering, and the thought fills her with fear.

'Don't,' Quinn says frantically, trying to inject some forcefulness into her voice. 'Don't touch me.'

'Why?'

'Because you're a ... because.'

She can't say it. The word is on the tip of her tongue – what Rachel is. What _Quinn_ is.

Rachel senses what she's about to say. Her jaw clenches.

'What am I?' she says, even quieter, sterner, menacing. Her eyes narrow into slits.

Quinn can't say a word. It only serves to make Rachel angrier; suddenly she's lifting off the lockers and presses right up against Quinn, making her back away. 'Now you listen here, Quinn Fabray,' Rachel says, her voice a low hiss of danger. 'I don't know what you think this is going to achieve, but I know what you're doing!'

'Oh really?' Quinn says, trying to sound confident and failing to do so.

'I'm not _stupid_,' she spits. 'You don't think I know when someone has a crush on me –'

Quinn's eyes widen and she claps her hand over Rachel's mouth. 'Shut the hell up! Do you have to talk so loudly?' The brunette wrenches the hand away and grabs both of Quinn's in her surprisingly strong ones, pinning them together between the two of them.

'I'm not going to censor myself for anyone!' Rachel's voice is growing in volume, despite Quinn's valiant efforts to make her silent. 'Use me as a scapegoat for your issues if you must - you can push me away all you like, Quinn.'

What little space that was between Rachel and Quinn disappears as she steps into Quinn's personal bubble challengingly. Quinn's heart does a flip in her chest. In Quinn's peripheral vision she can see students in the hallway are watching with interest – then she sees nothing but deep brown when Rachel grips the collar of her Cheerios shirt. She yanks Quinn down the extra inches so they're almost nose to nose.

'I'll be right here when you _grow the fuck up.'_

And then Rachel kisses her.

It's only for a second, her lips – fuck, her soft, amazing lips that fit so perfectly on hers –

brushing gently on Quinn's. The gasps resound around her anyway, shocking Quinn out of the

temptation to just sink into that kiss.

Quinn jerks her body back out of reach, almost colliding with someone walking behind her.

_Oh God Oh God Oh God_

'Get the fuck off me!' She scours her fingers desperately over her mouth as if that'll erase the sensation, but she can still feel the pressure lingering, that awful, amazing contact. Her wild eyes fall on Rachel who has turned extremely pale, like the consequences of her actions have only just occurred to her.

'Quinn, I'm sorry, I -'

Her mouth works around sounds, but nothing comes out.

Simultaneously they flinch at the sound of high pitched, cruel laughter. The instant recognition sends a sliver of ice cold dread slips down Quinn's spine at the familiar giggles of the Cheerios lurking nearby.

They cat-call tauntingly, jeering from afar. Quinn prays Rachel won't make it worse. But Rachel can never keep her mouth shut.

'Excuse me, Quinn and I happen to be talking.' Her voice shakes.

Kelly, standing at the front in normal clothes, arms folded, tosses her hair back. The small bruise on her face from where Santana hit her is healing. Although she's not a Cheerio anymore, apparently her influence still stands. Quinn has not inherited it yet.

There's a disturbing familiarity in the look she gives them. She smirks, infuriatingly. Knowingly. She always was like Sue.

And then she says _it, _always knowing the exact words that get to Quinn, the one that worked last time.

'Really? Pretty sure it looked like you two dykes were kissing.'

The word sends a shockwave through the surrounding crowd in a way that their one sided kiss wasn't quite able to – coming from Kelly, the ex-head Cheerio, it is all the confirmation most of the others need to permanently peg both Rachel and Quinn as lesbians for the rest of their lives.

She sees it happening already – the inevitable laughing and mocking from every corner of the student body, the loss of her family when they find out. Unless she stops this now, Quinn's life is going to be absolute hell.

So it's self preservation in the end, isn't it? Trying to save hers elf.

Her own words swim to the front of her mind: 'It's not easy being gay in high school.'

_Kill, or be killed._

That's why she jerks her arm away from Rachel's warm touch and forces herself to ignore the vicious plummeting of her stomach at the flash of hurt in Rachel's eyes.

That's why, in the end, she does it.

'Get your man hands _off _me.'

Amidst the raucous laughter, Quinn turns away so she doesn't have to look at Rachel. She sees

him off to the side: the guy with the afro who is always staring at Rachel in the lunch room. He's carrying a Big Gulp cup of Slushie in one hand and his camera in the other, his eyes wide with excitement as he snaps photos diligently. Because of his enthusiasm he doesn't notice when she's suddenly right in front of him.

'Give me your Slushie, you creepy asshole,' Quinn demands, snatching the thing off him, taking care to spill some on his painstakingly polished shoes. He squeaks in protest but shrinks back when she flashes a fiery glare at him that promises bodily harm if he stops her.

Her grip tightens on the cup as she turns to face Rachel. She hasn't moved an inch. Liquid spills out and cherry Slushie trickles over her fingers and stains them red.

For a second, her eyes fall on Kelly and she considers dousing her instead.

She nearly does it,t oo, but then a small voice nearby speaks up.

'Please don't,' whispers Rachel.

_'Shut up_.'

Her arm rears back and then forward, momentum carrying the contents towards Rachel.

From all around, the sound of gasps, hoots and hollers. A muffled laugh. Rachel's face is contorted, freezing liquid staining her cheeks and clothes.

The cup drops from Quinn's hands numbly and she barely realises she dropped it. It bounces off the floor, draining the final drops into a small puddle at their feet, taking that anger with it that acted as a barrier to stop her seeing what she was really doing.

Her mouth dry, Quinn manages to raise her eyes to Rachel's. The people around her disappear for a second and all Quinn sees is the two of them. Brown eyes look back at her, broken, underneath a curtain of drenched hair.

Quinn tears her gaze away and stumbles back, unable to look at her anymore. By the time she gets to the doors the clatter of footsteps behind her alerts her to Santana and Brittany running after her.

She's already asking herself, 'Was it worth it?'

_No._

Later on, she'll get her mother to call her sister, to tell her that she's taken her advice and needs her.

She'll have a long, tearful talk with her sister on the phone.

The next morning people will part in the hallways for her, and someone else will Slushie Rachel.

Later on, Quinn will tell herself it _was_ worth it.

At least if Rachel's face is covered in Slushie she won't have to see her crying.

* * *

**A/N: i'm sorry**


End file.
